


Episode 906: The Little Fish

by agelade



Series: Lustra: A Supernatural Season 9 AU [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF!Sam, Boys hunting in the woods, Gen, Geocaching adventures, hurt!Dean, motw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agelade/pseuds/agelade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean catch a case deep in the wilderness where some fugly has been snatching hikers. Same song, different singer. The boys disagree about what they're hunting, how they should hunt it, whether they should split up -- but when Dean is on the menu, Sam has to prove that he's up for the task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Northern Highland American Legion State Forest  
Wisconsin**

Rain beat down on the tents, through the dense leaf canopy, promising fog as the night cooled the ground. The two smaller tents were empty; laughter came from the largest one between them, laughter and light, shadows large on the thin tent walls, shadows of seven, eight people sitting around a low fold-up table. Drinking beers, making peanut butter sandwiches, playing cards.

Seven, eight people, shadows large and looming, one unmoving, one unspeaking, unlaughing, watching shadow. Among them.

Their voices crashed into each other, high giddiness, the soothing low pull of confidence, the alto lull of knowing, the sharp crack of sarcasm.

_Dude!_

Laughter. _Dude, she says. Gawd that's cute. Here, give me a beer, will ya?_

_So you're like an accountant or something? What brings you out here?_

_That's just a job I found myself kinda trapped in. You know, inertia. I'd rather be out here with the bugs and shit-_

_God I love the smell of rain, don't you?_

_Hey, another game?_

_It's Laura, right? I'm Carlos-_

_I heard there's bears out here. Did you hear about the bears?_

_Yeah right. Check the map, macho man. Bear sightings are waaaay north of here._

_She should know,_ and laughter, _Didn't I see you chatting up the ranger before we came out here?_

 _Shut up._ Laughter.

_Barkeep! Another beer for my buddy. What's your name, and what are we playing?_

_Here you are, my fine sir! The finest cheap ass brew south of the Canada border, eh!_

_Okay okay, who's in-_

_Did you hear that?_

_Shut up-_

_Do you_ smell _that?_

The little whine in the trees was barely discernible, and vanished when the voices in the tent lowered to a hush. Seven, eight people cast shadows in the lamplight, seven, eight people up like a shot when the branches overhead shook, when the wail surrounded them, strangely echoing. Seven, eight people shrieking as something unseen descended upon them, as fabric was rent and the air was filled with the scent of mud, rain, the reek of copper.

She woke up in pain, she woke up screaming. Blood on her face, in her mouth, bone-deep bruises and she thought her arm had been torn off, a steel rod ache where she though her eye had been torn out.

"Shh, shh."

The man who woke her looked familiar. "I know you," she breathed.

"Yeah. I checked over your group's gear when you came out two days ago." His brow wrinkled in concern. "Do you know where you are?" He watched her a moment. "Clear Lake," he supplied. "Clear Lake Ranger Station. How did you get in here?"

She remembered - blood, screams, wild like animals but they were her friends, strangers she'd just met two days ago but had grown close to in that way that you only can when you're the only people around for miles, and that _smell_ -

"Oh god," she said. "They're all _dead_."

* * *

 **Episode Six**  
" **The Little Fish"  
Chapter One**

"No, it looks good." Sam nodded at Kevin's notes. "You didn't," he said, looking up hastily, "try it already, right?"

"No. You said wait for you guys to get back, so I waited." Kevin rolled his eyes. "I'm not suicidal."

Sam laughed a little. "Right. Sorry."

"So you think it'll work?"

"Uh yeah, it should. Charlie helped you?" Sam shook his head, slow, scanning the lines of writing again. "Wow. You guys-"

"She should come live here."

"What?"

"She should-"

"No, I heard you." Sam frowned. "Charlie doesn't want to live here."

"What, she's not _family_?"

"That's not - she has a life outside of this. She has a girlfriend. She doesn't have monsters on her tail-"

"She's not a super special fragile prophet?"

"That's not what I said-"

"It's okay. Listen. It's not like I have anywhere else to go, so I appreciate it. I just. I like her, and she's a resource, and just _knowing_ you guys is enough to get someone killed or - hey, wait, no, I didn't mean-"

Sam took a breath. Shook his head. Who was the fragile one, again? Sam felt the color come back to his face, his heart slow back down. "Fine, I'm fine," he muttered.

"You okay?"

Sam closed his eyes, nodded. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good. Just. Tired, I guess."

Kevin glared hard at Sam, hard enough that Sam had to laugh at how comical it all was. "Kevin, I'm _fine_."

"You know that thing where a word stops meaning anything because you say it too often? Yeah. Anyway, whatever. When can we try this?"

"Uh..." Sam looked over the spell again, the ingredients, the symbols and the latin. He shrugged. "I gotta check something with Dean, but ASAP I guess. We'll be right there, okay?"

"I'm not worried." Kevin looked at Sam.

Sam looked at Kevin. The moment drew out as they looked at each other, eyebrows together. The Kevin snorted a laugh and Sam grinned and looked away.

"Okay. I'm worried. But it's gonna be fine, I know that."

Sam smiled at him. "Yeah. It's gonna be fine. We're not gonna let anything happen to you, Kev."

"Don't go gettin' sappy now."

Sam laughed. "Pretty good, but you gotta get more gravel into it. More bass."

" _Don't go gettin' sappy now,"_ Kevin growled, deeper and with some effort. "God, how does he talk like that?"

"Talk like what?"

Sam and Kevin turned in unison toward the door, where Dean stood with a bag from the gas station.

Sam frowned at him. "Come on, Dean. That's not food. The grocery store is barely a mile further into town."

"Calm down. I got your gross protein bar things, so what do you care?"

Sam gestured at Kevin. "We got other mouths to feed, Dean." He gestured widely with the pages of Kevin's spellwork. "I can't help the kids with their homework _and_ do all the shopping."

Kevin looked between them, all puppy eyes. "Dad, Other Dad, I hate it when you guys fight!"

"Okay yuck it up, yuck it up," Dean said, while Sam and Kevin grinned at each other. The corner of Dean's mouth twitched upward as he came in further, set the bag on the table next to Sam. "The rest of the _actual groceries_ are out in the car. From the _actual grocery store._ Lock her up before you come back in, will ya kid?"

Kevin huffed and shoved away from the table, just exactly like a kid being told to do something by a parent.

Sam watched him go, still chuckling.

"You're in a good mood. Feeling better, huh?"

Sam looked back at him, smile fading just a bit. "Uh. Yeah. Actually..." He fidgeted. He'd weighed it, this asking thing - it'd only been a week since the witch had sucked his memories out, since she'd collapsed under the weight of them, her blood all over him, the terror in her eyes, the look he recognized saying _God no, I can't I can't, please let me go._ But he'd put his back under it, he'd been keeping zipped about it, and he hoped that Dean-

But Dean looked at him with this look like he just knew Sam was going to ask the impossible and Dean couldn't give it to him. Dean was already resigned to having to say no. Already annoyed about it and Sam hadn't even said anything yet. "Uhm."

"Spit it out, Sam."

"I kinda... found us a hunt."

"Okay...? And suddenly you're all cheerful about hunting?"

Sam shook his head. "Since when do I not want to work, Dean? You're the one-"

"No, oh no. You want to work, yeah. But you ain't happy about it. They aren't the same thing, Sammy."

Sam raised his brows. Swallowed. That wasn't the line of resistance he'd been anticipating. His arguments dried up in his throat. "Oh. Well. I."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Out with it."

Sam grinned, hoped it was convincing. This was gonna make Dean's _day_. "So, I was just skimming through the news looking for stuff and I found this article." He fished out a print out and handed it to Dean, saying, "Dude. It's a _goatman_."

Dean's face lit up, this unmistakable lift, smoothing of the worry lines, creasing of the smile lines, quickly tamped down by responsibility. He shoved the paper back into Sam's hands. "No. No way did we catch a goatman. There's only been like three confirmed sightings in like, what, ten-"

"Ten years, four months, and before that, nothing for like twenty, no, I know. But this is a goatman, I'm sure of it. Look, look here," Sam said, getting up to shoulder in next to Dean to press the page back into Dean's hands. He pointed out a line in the article. "The smell was so strong, she said, that she couldn't smell anything but that for a _week_."

"Sam-"

"Dean." Sam looked at him - at the way Dean couldn't look him in the eye more than a moment, and that was all about how Dean didn't trust him in the field, didn't trust that Sam could handle himself. Sam managed to get himself caught by a witch and nearly killed the moment Dean's eye was off him. Dean said it was about Sam being happy with hunting, and that had thrown him, but Dean looked anywhere but at Sam and it was clear that Dean had just been saying whatever he thought would shut Sam up. Sam stood up straight. Solemn. "Dean. Please."

Dean looked at him then. "Sam, no. We got too much goin' on. Angels and - and Crowley. Cas, this whole FBI thing-"

Sam frowned. "Dean, those are non-things. I mean, we spent all last week searching for signs that we're still being tailed by the feds, and nothing. It's like they just decided we weren't what they were looking for after all-"

"That should worry you!"

"It does!" Sam stopped himself, steadied himself on the back of his chair. Dean was an expert at getting under his skin, getting him off topic. "It worries me, okay? But we have no leads on it, and what would we even do about it if we did? We can't exactly salt and burn a government agency. We're off their radar, and that means we can hunt."

"Angels-"

"Cas is working that angle. Lethaniel has maybe twenty who follow her, and another thirty can maybe be swayed, but it takes time-"

"Okay, well what about Kevin's spell. We can't just take off-"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Maybe you should just stay home then-"

"Maybe _you_ should stay home!"

There was quiet. " _Maybe_ ," Sam said, "you should just tell me what you're pissed at me for this time. Getting caught by that witch? Is that it? Because I only did what you would have done, Dean."

Dean frowned, looked stunned. "I'm not _pissed_ at you, God. Sam." He shook his head a little, like that was the last thing he expected to hear Sam say. "I'm worried, dude."

It wasn't exactly the last thing _Sam_ expected to hear, but it was pretty close. Sure, Dean worried. But his tone - it wasn't that harassed kind of worry, that Sam was going to do something stupid. It was... different. "Dean?"

"Sammy, I feel like I just got you back. At the church, I was so sure I - And now with this Lucifer crap and the trials and - _Boston_ , and-"

Sam paled. He'd almost shot himself dead in Boston. And he just hoped Dean forgot about that. Like Dean could have forgotten. "Dean, I'm-"

"Don't you fucking apologize. It's not you, okay? It's not your _fault_. I mean how much more can the friggin' universe expect you to deal with? And I can't stop it-"

"Stop. Dean. Slow down." Sam's head rang. "You don't have to worry about the universe, okay? I can handle myself-"

"Oh really? Is that what you've been doing? Handling yourself?" Dean advanced on Sam, backed Sam into the table.

Sam steadied himself; still a little shaky, but he'd take care of that in a minute. First - "Yeah, it is. I can do this, Dean. Just as well as I've ever been able to, more, even, because of... Amelia, and maybe you don't think that's a lot, but it's the best we got-"

"We got me."

"Well, you can't always be there."

"I should be."

Sam shook his head. "Well you can't be. I'd like to be there for you all the time too, but that's not always possible. You have to get that. If something happens-"

"If something happens, _what_."

Sam swallowed. _If something happens, you can't blame yourself. If something happens, you have to let it go this time. If something happens-_ "If something happens, don't you wanna go out knowing you took down a friggin' _goatman_?" He grinned.

Dean closed his eyes. The corner of his mouth turned up and Sam knew he'd hooked him despite Dean's resistance to anything that put "Sam" and "hunting" in the same sentence.

"Ehhh?"

"Yeah yeah, fine," Dean said, but his eyes were lit up again as he read the article for more data. Sam slid out from between him and the table, backed away toward his own seat. Dean sank into a chair and pawed through more of Sam's research. "Put this together yourself?"

"Yeah, it's like I know how to do my job or something."

"Wise guy. I _meant_ , these suckers are notoriously tough to track. Even Dad had trouble-"

"I never knew Dad caught a goatman."

"Uh," Dean said, distracted by data. "He didn't." Dean looked up. "Like I said, he had trouble."

"Well, you're welcome. I figure we head out in the morning."

"You don't wanna fill up on research or something first?"

Sam frowned. "We can research once we're there. Anyway, it's camping season."

"So?"

" _So_ , this thing is gonna have a buffet set out for it. We gotta go take care of it before more people die, Dean."

"Okay then. First thing in the morning."

"Hey," Kevin called from the front, laden with grocery bags. "Little help here?"

* * *

So Sammy wanted to hunt. Great. Just fucking great. The kid's hands were _shaking_ when he tried to shove the stupid article print out at Dean, and he just expected them both to ignore that, and by the way, hadn't he _just_ been kidnapped by a witch like a week before?

But Sammy said hunt, so a day later, Dean found himself in the driver's seat while Sam frowned at research in the passenger's seat, tapping at the tablet Charlie had given him for his birthday.

"You wanna stop on the way, or drive straight through to Wisconsin?"

Sam looked up at him. He seemed pale, a little gaspy. "Uh, whatever. If you wanna stop, I'm okay with that. I mean, you're the one doing all the driving."

"If you wanna drive, Sam, you should." Dean gestured out at the wide open road, straight for miles. "I'll be right here if I need to grab the wheel."

Sam made a face and looked back down at the tablet in his lap.

"I get it," Dean said. "But there's no sense sugar-coating it when we both know what's going on. I just think, you've got a pretty good handle on this thing, right? So you'll stay in the right lane, you'll pull off to the shoulder if you start feeling shaky. I'll be right here in case-"

"In case I have a dizzy spell and steer us across three lanes into oncoming traffic, or have another seizure, or anything else that could go wrong, because with our luck? It will." Sam closed his eyes, settled himself. When he opened them again and looked at Dean, he'd forced himself to smile, just a little. "It's really fine, Dean. I didn't mean for it to be a thing. Just, you're the one driving, you get to be the one who decides whether we stop for the night and head the rest of the way up in the morning."

"Fine," Dean said, "then we're driving straight through."

"Fine."

It was a thirteen hour drive from Lebanon to the Northern Highland American Legion State Forest in Wisconsin. With lunch and dinner breaks, it took them about fifteen hours to make it to the tiny town of Woodruff, just after ten at night.

Dean looked around their little motel room. More and more the sense that he belonged in these little boxes was fading. There was a bed somewhere that knew his body; there were pillows that fit his head. There was a room where the walls stayed the same, hung with things he'd chosen. And while his childhood home sat out in the parking lot, he was starting to feel like the road was part of some kind of past life, an ended chapter, and he put his hand on the bed and it felt _good_ to have the hard uncomfortable mattress meet his touch, because it meant a new chapter had started, it meant somewhere else was home.

Across the room, Sam was already unpacking, looking every bit at home in the washed out wallpaper plywood mattress threadbare carpeting as he had a year ago, a lifetime ago.

Dean frowned.

"Figure we'll interview the last victim-"

"Of the _goatman_ ," Dean said, shaking his head.

"Yes, of the goatman. Tomorrow morning. She's only in a hospital here until she's up to making the trip back home, Minnesota-"

"-So we gotta move fast."

"Yep." Sam dropped into a chair at the table, spread out the photos he'd gotten off the web.

Dean wandered over to take a look at them. "What's she doing in Wisconsin?"

"She's part of a message board, uh, forum. Online."

"I know what a forum is."

Sam shot him a look, but the unfocused distracted haze lifted, so Dean counted it as a win. "It's some kind of fan group, uh, fancy whiskey or something. A group of them met up for a long weekend to go camping. Ranger said she was passed out on his couch when he showed up Sunday morning, beat to hell and bleeding."

Dean pulled over the cooler and sat, pulling over some photos Sam had pulled off the local law enforcement's server. He whistled. "She's lucky to be alive. That's an orbital fracture, I'd bet you anything."

"You'd win. She'll probably never see out of that eye again." Sam slid over the police report. The medical details were thin, but if they needed more, well, they were headed to the hospital first thing in the morning. "So, I was thinking I go to the hospital, you talk to the ranger who found her?"

Dean looked up. Frowned. "Oh, uh. Yeah. I guess."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Listen, there's nothing to flirt with in that hospital room, man. You'll have better luck with the ranger."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shaddup." He tapped on the photo a couple of times in thought. "Listen, the hospital's in town, I bet she doesn't know anything more than she said already anyway. Let's just hit one, then the other. Okay?"

Sam watched him a moment, calculating. Then he sighed. "Fine, okay." He glanced over the data one last time, nodded to himself, and got up from the chair. "See if you can spot anything I mighta missed. I'm gonna get ready for bed."

"We just got here."

Sam turned, pulling the strap of his duffel over his shoulder. "I'm beat. Go out if you want to. I'm just gonna hit the sack."

Dean frowned as Sam disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. The water in the sink ran, Sam brushing his teeth, washing his face. Then a bit of silence-

\- And then the sound of the shower. Well, Sam sometimes did shower at odd times. Dean had noticed, during his first bout with demon blood, during the whole Lucifer thing, anytime he wasn't himself. Dean blew out a breath. If Sam needed to shower six times a day, Dean wasn't gonna argue with it.

* * *

Dean did go out, Sam saw when he came out of the shower. A note on the nightstand between their beds said, "Out for a drink, back before you're dreaming." Well, that wouldn't be true, but it was nice of Dean to keep his carousing to a minimum while they were on a job. Sam suspected it was more to do with Sam's whole... situation. But Dean didn't make a thing about it, and it was probably better for both of them that he didn't.

The papers on the table had been sorted through - Dean making connections, or just trying to see where Sam had made them. It hadn't even really been work, just a couple of pieces of info that happened to click. Still, he thought there was some amount of pride in Dean's face when he'd asked how Sam had managed it when not even Dad had figured out the pattern. Sam put the pages back in order and took his tablet to bed, fell asleep with the light on.

When he woke up, it was to Dean shaking him. He pushed Dean away and tried to sit up. "Dude, what?"

"Jesus Sam, I've been trying to wake you up for like twenty minutes."

Sam looked past him, toward the window with early morning light streaming in around the edges of the heavy drapes. He checked his watch. "It's six in the morning. Since when do you wanna start so early?"

"That's not what I'm shakin' you for," Dean grumped, sitting back onto his own bed and looking harassed.

"Then-" Sam closed his eyes. "I was dreaming. Right?"

"Dreaming's kinda soft-balling it, I think."

"Sorry." Sam flopped back, blew out a breath.

"I thought you were doin' okay."

"I am. I am."

"You haven't slept this hard since you were eight. What's up?"

Sam glanced over. "I took something-"

"I bet-" Dean sniped.

"A sleep-aid," Sam said over him. "A regular, over the counter drug that helps me sleep. Completely legal." He knew what Dean was thinking - last time Lucifer had gotten the better of him, he had resorted to back alley means to try to sleep and it hadn't ended well. But Lucifer was shelved, at least temporarily, and the dreams were just that. Dreams.

Dean frowned hard at him.

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling, threw up his hands. "You'd rather I toss back a couple shots of whiskey, Dean?"

"You got a problem with how I deal?"

Sam sat up, ignoring the dizziness. "No, I don't. You got a problem with how _I_ deal?"

Dean watched him, biting back a response, Sam could tell. His mouth twisted, he was just _dying_ to say something. But in the end, he just said, "Come on. We're awake now. Might as well get on with it."

"Fine. Good," Sam said, and hauled himself out of bed to take himself and his duffel into the bathroom. "Hope you don't mind if I shower first," he said, and didn't wait for a response.

* * *

Tabitha Minnow was alert when they showed up at the hospital at 7:30 in the morning. One arm in a cast propped out from her hip, a leg bent at the knee over a couple of pillows and wrapped in bandages. Her face was purple and yellow, stitched and swollen. A band of gauze held an eyepad over her left eye.

"Feels worse than it looks, I promise," she said as they loitered in her doorway. "The doc said you were FBI?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Just wanna ask you some questions-"

"I've already given my statement-"

Dean grimaced. "The local authorities don't really have a good handle on the sort of thing we're-"

Tabitha shook her head. "-to the FBI," she finished. "Like yesterday."

Dean glanced at Sam, who looked bewildered. Usually the question was more along the lines of _why does the FBI care about this?_ "You talked to the FBI yesterday?" Sam said.

"Shouldn't you guys know who's on what case?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said. "Of course we do. It's just a competition... thing. See they're from like, the wildlife and protected parks division, and we're from the... murder... division."

Tabitha looked doubtful.

Sam shook his head and laughed. "Don't mind my partner. He's just astounded we got beat by a whole day. But he's right, we're more interested in the attack than the potential impact on the 'protected parks' angle."

Dean eyebrowed at Sam, who was focused 100% on Tabitha. His disdain for the imagined "protected parks" division of the FBI, the little eyeroll, and easy laugh - all totally and completely made up, but Tabitha bought it. She laughed a little, conspiratorily, Sam's cue to continue.

"Now I know this might be difficult to talk about-"

"What, because seven of my friends were killed and I'm half blind for the rest of my life and I'll set off metal detectors wherever I go now? Difficult _might_ cover it."

Sam looked over at Dean, shared a little uncomfortable smile. "They found all seven bodies?"

"I don't know. They won't tell me anything."

"No problem. We'll get that from the police. Can you tell us a little about the attack itself? We know some of the details, but I'd like to hear it in your words."

Tabitha frowned, played with the hem of the hospital blanket. "I didn't really know them, you know?" she said. "I mean, we'd never met in person before Friday."

"Take your time," Sam said softly. Dean frowned, watching them interact.

"I never saw the thing, whatever it was. A bear, I guess. But Laura was saying the area was safe - I mean who knows if she even knows what she's talking about. She's totally a know-it-all on the boards." Tabitha stopped her ramble short. She stared at nothing. " _Was_ a know-it-all," she corrected. "Laura _was_ her name, right?" Tabitha's eyes filled as she tilted her head, and Dean was hit with a sudden sick realization that he knew that expression, every time Sam was battling Lucifer, the horror, the guilt, the loss, the slipping sanity, and just a moment before, she'd been fine, even laughed-

"Okay," Dean said. "Listen, we can pick this back up a little later."

Sam turned to him. "Dean-"

"I'm okay," Tabitha said. "I just." She sniffed, smiled. "Don't want to give you bad intel. We were all still kinda learning each other's real names. And we were drunk preeeetty much all weekend, so. I _think_ it was antropy82 who said the area didn't have bears - she likes to think she's the expert on all of nature. And I _think_ antropy's IRL name was Laura... Now... I'm just not sure what I remember. It's all kind of jumbled." She lifted her hand to touch her fingertips to her bandaged eye.

"Your doctor told us you banged your head pretty good," Sam soothed. "Just tell us whatever you think you remember, even if it sounds weird or doesn't make sense. We'll do the leg work to figure out what really happened. Okay?"

Tabitha nodded. Dean watched as Sam drew the details out of her, patient and professional, until about twenty minutes in, when he paled and hid his shaking hands in his pockets. She was saying, "That's all I really remember," when Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"I think we got all we need," he said, and felt Sam relax. "We'll come by again if we have more questions."

Sam pulled a business card from his pocket. "Or if you remember something else, call us."

"Thanks," she said. "I will."

Dean left it until they were in the car, jackets thrown into the back seat, heading up the highway toward the state park. But then he said, "So what was that?"

"What?"

"A week ago you couldn't be bothered to step in to talk to Erica's brother and now you're 'good cop' all of a sudden?"

Sam frowned at him. "You had Stevie handled, Dean. What do you want me to say? Sorry I'm not always feeling chatty?"

"Chatty? This is _work_ , Sam-"

" _Yeah_ and you had it _handled_. And then you bitched at me about it. So now I take the lead, because you choke on some excuse, and you're bitching at me for that too? God I just can't _win_ with you-"

"That's not what I meant, Sam-"

"Whatever."

Dean stared at the road. Sam played with his tablet, pissed. Dean let him stew for a minute, then: "I'm just-"

"What."

"- _worried_. Sam. If there's something else goin' on, if something _changed_ \- you can tell me anything, you know that."

Sam looked at him, then back down, brows together. "I know. Nothing's changed." He stared at his tablet again, but didn't touch it, just looked at nothing. "Some days are just better than others," he said, so quiet Dean could barely hear it.

Dean nodded, mostly to himself. If Sam wanted to tell him about the demon blood, that was his opening. And he knew, god he knew, that Sam had reason to doubt that he really could tell Dean anything. But Dean was counting on Sam's bottomless well of dumb fucking optimism; eventually Sam would tell him because he hoped Dean would help, despite all of the evidence.

Anyway, as long as it kept Sam on his feet and he wasn't doing the dumb shit he'd done last time he went out of his mind on it, Dean was willing to look the other way. The alternative-

Well.

* * *

The ranger who'd found Tabitha Minnow on his sofa at Clear Lake station was due, according to the woman in the main office, to see some campers off at Crystal Lake ranger station. Easy to find, she said, the Nature Center is wonderful, try to get some sun - the last directed at Sam, who was staying out of the conversation by staring at his feet.

Dean rolled his eyes, but thanked her and paid for a day pass, and a couple of miles into the wilderness later, they were parked at the Nature Center.

"Crap," Dean said.

Sam looked up, frowned. "Crap."

About thirty people were assembled outside the building, bustling around, high fives, backpacks and water bottles.

"I think our monster ordered in," Dean said.

"I'm telling you, it's a goatman."

"Whatever. Look I know what you're thinkin'-"

"We have to talk to the ranger, I know. But those people are going to be sitting ducks." Sam watched him, with his dumb _eyes_ again, and Dean blew out a breath.

"We'll talk to the ranger first, and then see what we can do about the people. We need more information about what we're up against. Even," he added before Sam could protest again. "If it's a goatman. We need facts. This is usually _your_ gripe, Sam. So chill."

Sam frowned, but nodded. "Fine. But we can't go in there as suits if we're going to head out with the group."

Dean shook his head and pulled back out of the parking lot. Ten minutes later, he was keeping watch while Sam changed in front of the car, which was nosed into a little divot off the main drag, shielded only barely by tree cover. He wasn't excited about the prospect of hiking out in the summer heat, but Sam had added things to the trunk that would be useful, and Dean packed them two backpacks with water bottles and some MREs from the bunker's pantry, instant coffee because god, and extra socks for each of them. Sam was a fucking boyscout. They got by without all this crap for years, but whatever. "Sam, you done primping?"

"Yeah, I'm ready," Sam said, right behind him. He reached for one of the backpacks and Dean whistled.

"Shorts?"

"Yeah," Sam said. " _And_ hiking shoes. You really need to invest one of these days, Dean."

"Not a chance in hell."

* * *

"That's Matt Danish, the park ranger who found Tabitha."

Dean followed Sam's nod and picked out the dark-haired man giving some safety talk to the group, dressed in khaki shorts and shirt. "How do you know? I mean other than the obvious."

"Picture in the paper. So how do we want to play this? We're just campers who happen to be camping near these people? We can talk some information out of the ranger and then beat feet to catch up with them. Or I can sneak into the office while you're talking to him and get the campsite numbers."

Dean shrugged under the weight of the backpack. "Why don't we just play it by ear," he suggested. "See what we're working with here. I mean look at them." He nodded at the group of eager campers. "They're excited, still prepping. They aren't going anywhere for at least another half hour after he's done giving them the talk. I guarantee it."

Sam looked doubtful, but shrugged. "So we show up, wait for him to get done, then press him?"

"Then head out _with_ the groups, saying gosh we just happen to be camped right up next to them in the next site over. Sound good?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"Now keep an eye on your buddy," Danish was saying when they approached. "This is super important, since you guys don't know each other. We don't want anyone to get lost out there."

The crowd burbled, here and there people were giving each other the "partners?" look, and as soon as the ranger said, "Okay, let me know if you have any questions," the chatter started up in earnest, people asking each other their names.

"Dude, none of these people know each other," Dean murmured. "You thinkin what I'm thinkin?"

"Blend in?"

"Got it in one. Partners?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, I'll keep my eye on you. Don't worry."

Dean rolled his eyes and waved his hand at the ranger. "Quick question," he said, heading toward Danish. When they had moved a bit away from the group, he said, "Hey, we heard some people were killed out here like a week ago. Should we be worried?"

Matt Danish went pale. "Uh, no. No. That was a freak incident."

"God," Sam said. "So awful. I can only imagine. The girl whose life you saved, did she say what did it?"

Danish swallowed. "No. She was confused. Really banged up."

"I heard it was Bigfoot," Dean said.

"It wasn't _Bigfoot_ ," Sam said back, annoyed. Good ol' Sammy, playing along.

"It totally was. Wasn't it?" He watched Danish for a reaction.

"It wasn't Bigfoot," Sam challenged when Danish didn't respond. "Did she say _anything_ about it being Bigfoot?" And that's when it happened. Danish's ashen face went hard-lined.

"She was scared. Of course she thought it was a monster. You boys are looking for something sensational, but you aren't going to find it here. For god's sake, six people are dead."

Dean put his hands up, stepped back, immediately apologetic. "Sorry, sorry. Just checking, you know."

"Yeah, really," Sam agreed, tugging on Dean's sleeve. "We'll go back to the group now, we were just-"

Dean let Sam drag him away. He knew the distinctive haste in Sam's actions as _I just got some info_ , borne out when Sam stopped them and said, "Six people, Dean. He said six people died."

"So?"

"So, Tabitha said seven of her friends were dead."

Dean frowned. "She didn't know them very well. Maybe she lost track."

"Or maybe, the part of the lore about the goatman blending in with groups of its victims is true."

Dean shrugged, tilted his head. "Yeah maybe," he waffled, starting toward the group. "Either way, come on-"

"Okay guys," said a voice over the general chatter of the eager group of people. She seemed to be the leader; the others quieted down. "Before you get too comfortable with your buddy, I want to introduce the surprise we've been promising you for a month now. This isn't _just_ a geocaching adventure, it's _war_! Yes, fellow adventurers! You will be divided into two teams, red and blue." She held up red and blue shirts in either hand. "Each team will have a different path, a different set of clues, but one goal. Get to the nightly waypoint first. The winners each night will get the amenities already set up. The losers will have to survive on what they've got in their packs. Split up, and we'll see you at the finish line in three days!"

As the groups cheered and milled around, splitting themselves into two more or less even groups, Dean's heart sank. Crap. Crap. Sam was going to suggest they split up to cover both groups. He knew it.

"Oh, crap," Sam said, and for the briefest moment, Dean thought Sam was going to want to stay together as much as Dean did. Until he saw what Sam was staring at.

The bright and eager face of Charlie Bradbury, breaking into a big grin as she saw them.

"Guys! Hi!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Episode Six**  
" **The Little Fish"  
Chapter Two**

"Hey," Kevin said.

Crowley looked up from the computer he was poking at. Kevin's laptop, as it happened, but Kevin didn't ask for it back, and Crowley didn't make a move to give it up.

"Hey," he said back.

Kevin came further into the warroom, walked the perimeter looking at the various Men of Letters items of note and sundry trophies, but didn't say anything else.

"Something on your mind, Mini Moose?" Crowley asked. It was a tricky question, just loaded with all kinds of nasty things the pocket-sized prophet could say to him. Mother this, girlfriend that, by the way you held me captive for a longish time, but you fed me well so maybe that's a wash.

But Kevin just looked at him. Little half smile. Solicitous.

"Kev?"

"I was wondering if maybe we should start the translation work right now, get a jump on it, I mean why wait? Sam signed off on the protection thingie, and they're off working, who knows when they'll be back, and-"

"Hold up," Crowley said, shutting the lid of the laptop so he could get his bearing. "You want _me_ to do _what_. Provide assistance if something goes wrong?"

Kevin shrugged, lifted an eyebrow as though he didn't want to be asking, but didn't have another option. "Cas is off doing that angel. Uh, thing. Doing angel things."

Crowley chuckled. "As much as it warms my blackened little heart that I'm your very last choice here, why don't we just wait? What's the rush?"

"I'm not actually sure," Kevin said, slumping into a chair across the table from Crowley. "I guess Sam thinks they need more info about whatever deal they made with Death- You know all this already, right?"

"Course I do."

"Really? Or am I just telling you stuff you're not supposed to know?"

"You've been watching too much Intrigue TV, monkey. I'm a good guy now, remember?"

"It's been like a month since that whole thing went down. How do I know you aren't, like, reverting back to your evil ways."

Crowley sighed. He wasn't sure of the answer himself. "You'll just have to trust me."

Kevin raised a brow.

"Bruiser and Bouncer left me here with you. The word of a Winchester isn't enough for you?"

"They don't know you like I know you."

"No. Our relationship is admittedly different." Crowley watched the kid, he hadn't slept much, shaggy hair. Needed another sharp manicure. Kevin stared right back at him though, didn't back down. Well, Crowley hadn't expected him too, really. Kevin wasn't the back down sort these days, if he ever was. And now he was wondering, what if Moose's cure _did_ start to wear off? What if he started to slide back into what he had been, the thing that still surged in his veins now and then, the wrongness of doing right, the terror of lifetimes of guilt heaped on his back and the desire to see all that terrible _feeling_ business whisked away by some good ol' backsliding.

That desire was at war, now, with the desire to see Kevin safe, to see Moose and Squirrel unharmed. This _human_ part of him who was intensely grateful that Jody Mills was alive. The part that had no idea how to make anything better, attain any kind of relief or forgiveness, that skittered around sometimes when he was alone for too long, unsure and unmoored and desperate. The part that knew without a doubt what that demon part of him would do to these people if he were to revert back to his old self, the punishment for putting him through these ruinous torments, starting with Sam Winchester and working through the bunker, every damned kind word or chance at making amends repaid in blood.

"Are you engaged in a staring contest?" Cas said, appearing in the doorway.

Well, not _appearing_ appearing. But having come back from doing whoever- _what_ ever he had been doing. Crowley rolled his eyes at Castiel's doggedly stilted manner of speech. He had an idea Cas just really liked seeming odd and never intended to drop the affect. So said the man who'd lived as an American for a hundred years and still called people 'pet' and said 'bloody' with relish. Hum.

"No," Kevin said, but he still didn't look away.

"Where have you been," Crowley said, turning to Cas quite obviously breaking eye contact with Kevin.

"Lethaniel and I have been gathering forces-"

"For what?" Kevin asked.

Crowley considered Castiel. He had taken to wearing a blue sweater instead of his damp old trenchcoat, and his hair looked nice. He was so _human_ about it all. No wonder he clung to his angel-speak.

"The angels have lost their way. They are wreaking havoc all over the globe after falling-"

"There's riots in places," Kevin suggested. "Angels?"

"Likely. They are... undirected. And they have forgotten that they were purpose-built to love and protect humanity. Naomi might have helped teach them that, if she were alive."

Crowley frowned. "She's dead?" His heart, an unexpected little pang. His sparring partner. Gone.

"I'm certain of it. She had regained her memory before the end. Now there are little better than a dozen soldiers under Lethaniel. We think if we can get the others to see what Lethaniel saw, we might be able to salvage the Host."

"So your mission is to save the angels," Kevin said.

Castiel nodded. "And humanity as a by-product. They _will_ tear this world apart, even without their full power."

"When you say, get them to see what featherless pigeon-poo saw, you mean-"

"Expose them to Sam Winchester, yes."

"No."

Castiel turned to Crowley. "No?"

"No. The brainless bint nearly barbequed him on sight when she met him. We can't take that chance-"

"We must."

"Find another way-"

"Guys," Kevin interceded, and it was right he did because Crowley felt himself getting all _evil_ just thinking about little feathery robots getting their murderous hands on Sam. "Why don't we let Sam decide about it, okay?"

"Fine," Cas said.

"Fine."

Castiel sighed heavily then and came fully into the warroom, sat himself into a chair. "So how are things on your end?" he asked.

Crowley raised a brow. "My end?"

"Yes. Hell. You are still their King, and with Abaddon gone you must manage the divided factions."

Crowley raised the other brow. "Ah. Yes. That. I'm working on it."

 

* * *

 

"What are you guys doing here?" Charlie squealed, coming up to hug them each in turn.

"Uh," Sam said, oofing as she thumped into him fresh from Dean's arms. Dean grinned at how tight Charlie squeezed, how low on Sam's chest her head reached, how she patted his formerly injured shoulder and how Sam reacted by flexing his hand into a fist and working the shoulder joint just to show her he was okay. "We're on a hunt. What are _you_ doing here?"

Charlie stepped back, grinned that sheepish I-been-doin'-something-you-ain't-gonna-like grin. "Oh, same."

Dean's grin vanished. "What do you mean, same?"

"Uh, same," she said, shrugging. "Is there an echo out here? Gosh."

"You're on a hunt?" Sam glanced around like someone could overhear them. "Charlie-"

"Do you even know what we're hunting?" Dean cut in, taking her by the shoulder. She looked affronted.

"Nnnnno? But I will. Soon." She brandished her tablet.

"It's a goatman-" Sam said.

"It's not a goatman," Dean hissed. "Those things are impossible to track. You saying she tracked something impossible? No way."

Charlie tossed her hair. "Way."

"It's not impossible to track," Sam said. " _I_ tracked it."

"Yeah, like it's hard?" Charlie said, all valley girl. "Maybe you're just a little shortbus, buddy." Sam laughed.

"This isn't funny, Sam. If this thing is a goatman-"

"It's a goatman," Charlie and Sam said in unison.

"I said _if_ -" Dean roared. Discussion among the other campers silenced. Dean looked around. Goddammit. When the conversation murmur started up again, he whispered harsh, "IF it's a goatman, which we don't know that it is, it's dangerous, Charlie. You can't come on this one."

"Come on, bro," she said, lowering her voice into what she probably thought was "dude" territory. "I'm prepped man. I got a pocket knife, I got my research-" She waggled her tablet at him.

"Well do you even know how to kill it?"

"Do _you_?"

Dean looked at Sam for some goddamned support. No way was Sam on board for Charlie risking her life.

"She's got us there, Dean," Sam said, and Dean could just tell the SOB was holding back another laugh. "Okay okay," Sam went on, and to Dean's relief, his amusement seemed to be settling the fuck down. "Look, we came out to protect these guys, but you're right. We _don't_ know how to kill it yet. Maybe the better plan is just to go back to the motel, figure out all the details. This whole camping thing was last minute anyway."

Charlie seemed to consider, sighed big, but then froze, watching Sam's face. "Wait a minute. No way. I almost fell for it."

"Fell for what?" Sam asked.

"Your big dumb puppy thing."

Sam looked offended; Dean didn't bother hiding his own laugh at his expense. Oh the turning tables.

"You were gonna just drop me off at the motel and come back out here, weren't you?"

"No?" Sam looked to Dean for support, and Dean just had to grin and put his hands up like _you're on your own bro_. "No," Sam said sternly, earnestly at Charlie.

"No way. Put those eyebrows away mister. I'm not falling for it."

"What are you even talking about?"

"You know."

Sam boggled at Dean. It was possible he _didn't_ know about the eyebrow thing, Dean thought. "All right. What do we have to do to make this-" Dean gestured at Charlie and her backpack and her stupid camping hat and her dumb hiking boots. "-not happen?"

"Nothing you can do. Sorry boys. I'm in."

Charlie whirled away from them, thumbs in her backpack straps, and strode toward the campers who were sorting themselves out into teams.

"Crap."

"You said it," Dean agreed. He eyed the two groups. Blue seemed like it had a bunch of strangers on the team. Red had a clump of people who seemed like they knew each other maybe. Since the goatman - yeah right - had a habit of blending in with a bunch of strangers, blue was more at risk, and Charlie was headed toward blue anyway, so that made his mind up. "I'm thinking blue team."

"Okay," Sam said. "Then I'll take red."

Dean turned to him. "What? No. _We're_ taking blue. Let's go." He turned to go.

"Dean..." Dean didn't look back. He knew those eyebrows were back, the soft earnest plea in Sam's tone, beseeching. "Dean, come on. We gotta split up. You know I'm right."

Dean did turn then, steeled himself against the dumb little brother act and turned to face Sam, to make himself clear. "No, what I know is that you like to get yourself kidnapped for fun, if I'm not there to keep an eye on you."

And so what if Sam's soft pleading half smile faded instantly, so what if his gaze went a little hollow and he looked away from Dean. So what if the slope of his shoulders just made Dean want to quit hunting forever so he'd never have to see it again. Sam couldn't do it alone. Dean couldn't _let_ Sam do it alone.

But Sam took that breath, that preparing for war breath, and he turned to Dean, and he said, "This is what we signed up for, Dean. You're okay letting half of these kids just walk off to their deaths? I'm not. Someone has to protect them. That someone is us. I know you think I'm a liability, but please. Please."

Dean watched Sam, and okay yeah, Charlie was right. The eyebrow thing was a hazard. But then Dean had known that for decades, and he could ignore them, he could sneer at them and beat his brother chained to a wall in a dungeon if his blood felt like doing it, he could use them to fuel his own anger if he needed something to rail against. Yeah, he could minimize the effects of that hangdog expression if he needed to.

And he needed to now, but. All he could see was Sam straining against an invisible tormentor, so silent when every human screams, every human screams, Dean knows this from experience - and Sam overcoming an arch-angel, and all of heaven's plans, _hell's_ plans for them, and Sam shouldering insanity, and Sam walking into a burning building in an alternate universe. And Sam right now. Looking like he needed Dean's confirmation. Like he'd forgotten anything else he'd accomplished.

So Dean couldn't do it, couldn't ignore that face, forehead wrinkles, flared nostrils, the fight in him that Dean sometimes worried he'd never see again. "I'm going to regret this," he said.

"No you aren't," Sam said.

"Well I already do, so suck it. All right. Blue team," he said, pointing at his chest. "Red team?" pointing at Sam.

Sam looked out at the chattering mob, now pulling on tee shirts in their designated team colors. "Yeah, sounds good-" He broke off, and it was because Charlie was coming back with shirts for both of them.

"Good. I'm on Dean's team." She handed him a blue shirt.

Dean grinned, glanced at Sam with a little look who's the favorite wink, but Sam was nodding, subdued when he reached for the red shirt and Dean felt a little bad, and then worse as he saw superimposed on this battered older Sam a younger Sam from just a few weeks ago, a Sam who didn't know him - _Sam is 22 and vibrant, he hasn't learned to withdraw and go sit in the car, and Dean feels like an asshole for not noticing how solitary his old broken down brother has become-_

"Man, why do I have to deal with the annoying kid sister?" Dean whined then, and Sam's mouth lifted a little at the ends.

Charlie smiled sweetly, tossed her hair. "Because you stick out like a sore thumb in this crowd, dingleberry." She gestured at his jeans and work boots, then turned to showcase Sam's hiking shoes and shorts and general outdoorsy physique. Nerd. "Sassafras passes. But you? I think I gotta pretend to be your sister or something, like I'm dragging you here against your will. Because no one who's into this would dress like that."

Dean stared. Looked at Sam for some back-up only to find Sam was trying not to laugh at him. Charlie had effectively banished the gloom and doom and Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever. Give me that."

Dean stripped off his flannel and pulled the blue tee shirt on over the black tee shirt he was already wearing.

"I also have some stuff you guys probably don't have."

"We got water, food, maps," Dean said.

"You probably don't have a GPS," Charlie said, pulling a bright yellow, brand new GPS device from her jacket pocket and gesturing it toward Dean.

"He does."

"I do?"

Sam nodded off to the side to indicate Dean's backpack. "Bottom of your bag."

"You packed us GPSes?"

Sam grimaced. "I only had one."

"What're you gonna use?"

Sam shrugged, like he knew Dean was going to have a fit when he said: "I have a compass."

"Sam-"

"I didn't know _this_ was going to happen," Sam said, sweeping out a hand to indicate the whole teams thing.

"Old school," Charlie said, approving. "Nice. But you're not gonna be best buds with your team with that. This is a timed-trial, boys."

"It's not like we're actually trying to win," Sam reminded. "But yeah, if you have a spare, I'll take it."

Charlie handed it over to Sam. Dean watched, worry burbling in his belly the longer they stood there. Sam gave Dean the only real reliable 'can't get lost' device and then had the nerve to say they should split up? What else had Sam done to stack the deck against himself? Suddenly Dean was in a hotel room in Boston and Sam was holding a gun to his own temple and Dean wondered how many other times, how many other times had this happened without Dean knowing, this kind of intentional lack of prep-

But then Sam pulled his red shirt on over his head and said quietly, earnestly, honestly, "Dean, hey. I got this, okay? Please."

"Shut up. I know you got this. So shut up about it. And for god's sake don't _die._ "

Sam did laugh then, nodded at Charlie and after a final look at Dean that read _be careful, watch yourself, please be safe_ , he went off to mingle with the rest of the red team.

"You know," Charlie said, watching him go. "If they knew there was a vicious monster in these woods, I bet they'd have gone with a different color shirt."

Dean watched Sam too. The way his face lit up as he said something to someone in red at the back of the pack, as he shifted into the group like he belonged there, as he made some other kid laugh-

"You know. Because they're redshirts?"

Dean closed his eyes, shook his head. Laughed just a little. "No I get it. Come on. So what, sister? Cousin? Girlfriend?" He waggled a brow.

"Gross. Anyway, there's some hotties here. I'm not letting you cockblock me again. You and me? Strictly siblonic. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am."

 

* * *

 

"Sooooo," Charlie said once they were tromping through the underbrush. "That was intense. What's up? Is he still not feeling well? Is it his arm? Is he eating yet? You can tell me. In fact, I insist. He's ma boiii." She struck some kinda weird gangster pose out of a rap video.

"Nothing's up, Charlie."

"Yeah, right."

Dean watched around them, alert for signs of the thing they were hunting, wendigo-style territory marks, anything. The birds were singing in the trees, little forest animals scuttled around. Not common behavior for these kinds of foresty monsters; they tend to eat or scare everything in a radius around their hunting grounds.

"Yeah but no really. Give me the dish. If he's not okay, he shouldn't be on the hunt, right?"

"Sam's fine."

"Because at his party, he barely got out of his chair and spent the rest of the night in his room after you went to get real food-"

"He's fine dammit!"

The other blue shirts ahead of them looked back at his outburst.

"Dammit, Charlie," he hissed, and life went on around them, politely ignoring them as they stood facing each other. "If you wanted to know so bad, you should have gone with him."

"I wanted to come with you. You're the fun one, uh, usually," she amended with some disapproval. "And I knew he wouldn't tell me if he was okay or not."

"Sam's fun. Just get him talking about one of those books you gave him and he'll talk for hours. Believe me."

"You're avoiding the question. And you're extra touchy. And you're _extra_ extra not-fun. So spill."

Dean balled his hands up in fist. But he couldn't just punch Charlie, god. So fine. "He got himself kidnapped by a witch a week ago, okay? He was gone for four days before I could find him, and I just." She was watching him, this girl who didn't want to miss the "broment," whatever that was. This girl who sank her head to his chest and said she loved him, who told Sam that if anyone could do the impossible, it was him. This girl who had somehow wormed her way in where even Jo hadn't gone.

Maybe because there was always a kind of kindling between him and Jo, maybe because there was the baggage of their fathers between them, maybe because Jo grew up in the life like he did, because Jo hadn't had a chance to, before she died, before she died for _them_ , hadn't had a chance to really find herself between her mom and wanting to follow in her dad's footsteps and feeling, probably like Sam had, like a freak.

Charlie was free floating in a way Jo hadn't had a chance to be, Charlie also had no ideas of romance to attach to Dean. Not that Jo- enough about Jo.  He was wrong about Jo.  Jo had wormed her way in and now Jo's gone.

"Dean?"

"He's fine. It's me. I lost track of him and I couldn't find him, and all I had to do was _find_ him and he wouldn't have had to kill this woman, he wouldn't have had to be a prisoner for four days with this lunatic. _He_ can do this. It's me who can't, okay?"

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. "So wait. He killed someone? A week ago?"

"We've both killed people, Charlie."

"I guess I knew that. It's just different to hear about it."

"I guess it would be," he said, and that was an end to it. No more questions.

"So hey wait-"

Dean groaned.

 

* * *

 

Sam catalogued the people he was hiking with as well as he could. There were sixteen of them, including himself, seven women, nine men. Three couples, one of them two women. One man almost as tall as Sam was, one woman with a slight limb reduction defect affecting her left arm. He took note of any attribute he could, race, hair color, glasses - if anyone went missing, he needed to know.

And if anyone wasn't supposed to be there, he needed to know that too.

"Don't let her catch you staring."

"Hm?" Sam looked over to find Robbie Gotts (black, big smile, shorter side, camera, notebook in which Sam caught him writing notes about every photograph he took) grinning at him.

"She'll smack you with her good hand."

"I wasn't - I mean, that's not why-"

"I'm just giving you a hard time, man. She's cool anyway."

"So you guys know each other uh, IRL?"

Robbie chuckled at him. "Yeah, we know each other IRL."

"Cool."

"Don't even try it, man."

"Try what?" Sam looked back at her. Like he was going to what, try to talk to her about her arm? She seemed like she was doing just fine. He wasn't _that_ rude- Maybe if she started to have trouble or asked for help or something, but just out of the blue-?

"You _know_ what. And I get it. But she is outta your league."

Sam looked back at Robbie. Light dawned. "Oh. _Oh_. No. No."

"Excuse me?  She not good enough for you?"

"I mean." Sam stopped, closed his eyes. _Brown hair in curls, that smart little jacket, that soft twang and the no nonsense twitch to her nose and the way his hands fit into the curve of her spine and the way neither of them was any sort of cook and the way dinner came out burnt and they laughed and the way they laid on the hood of the car at night and promised never to give up on this life, unless they were giving up together and that was a lie, that was a lie, that was probably all a lie-_ \- The rest of everyone moved on, but Robbie stood there with him, waiting for an answer. "I just uh.  I'm sort of. Getting over someone. I'm not really. Um."

Robbie's frown faded and he blew out a breath in sympathy. "Okay man no sweat.  That's rough. Hey maybe me and you go out for a beer when we get back to civilization. Get you back on the horse?"

Sam looked at Robbie, really looked at him. They'd only talked once before, when they were setting out. He asked Sam about his compass, seemed relieved to see Sam had a GPS too. On that basis, people made friends, sure. _People_ made friends. But he and Dean weren't just people, and monsters zeroed in on them on an alarmingly regular basis.

"Sure," Sam said, watching Robbie. "That sounds great."

He watched Robbie more closely over the next hour. They had three clues to find and decipher before nightfall, and their third clue was supposed to lead to the same place the blue team's third clue would lead. Whoever got there first would get the supplies and the cabin, and everyone else had to sleep outside in their pup tents. Of course, he and Dean wouldn't be sleeping at all. What a fun hunt. Why had he insisted on this again?

Right. Because these people were in danger. Because Dean would be excited to have a goatman on his resume.

Except Dean wasn't excited, didn't even think it was a goatman in the first place, and they were split up so these people weren't really all that protected anyway, and they weren't the only people in the huge state forest, and they still didn't know how to kill the thing. So.

Two clues in, Robbie and Bridget laughed ahead of him. Robbie glanced back at Sam and then shared another laugh with Bridget. Sam smiled weakly, tore a green stem off bush as he passed and rolled it up, tossed it away. Not fun. Shouldn't have pushed so hard to get Dean to let them split up. But that was selfish, so selfish. These people-

These people weren't protected anyway, not really. Not by him. Not with the occasional laughter of a sadistic arch-angel just fringing his senses. Not with the sometimes too fast pace of his heart. How had he thought he was capable of this? He'd just hoped, just hoped and he was so selfish-

And then in front of him, the crowd was stopping. Sam looked at his GPS, saw that they were within 30 meters of their target. "Dead tree" was what they'd decoded the previous clue to mean, so they spread out and looked through every dead stump for the little metal box. With fifteen people working on it - Sam just watched - only a handful of seconds went by before a triumphant woman's voice yelled out, "Found it!" and the crowd contracted around her to read the clue and start figuring it out.

The group had a good rhythm to it, many of them were clearly enthusiasts, and even the newbies were quick studies. A subgroup of them took the location clue and starting working on it, math types who were quick at converting measurements. Another group started working in earnest on the text clue which would tell them the clue to finding the key to the cabin once they reached the coordinates. The last one had been in some kind of pictograph code. This one was an alphabet key with some interchanges thrown in for fun. Sam's fingers itched to see it, to try to help, but instead, he watched the perimeter.

And then he smelled it.

"Wow, I didn't think it was supposed to rain," someone said.

Robbie piped up. "It's my fault," he said good-naturedly. "Whenever I'm having a good time, the rain gotta fall."

Laughter. Someone called out, "Thanks a lot, Robbie!" and he laughed back, "No problem, I know you wanted to hike in the rain."

Sam frowned, looked around. Counted them. Three couples. Nine men. Eight women-

His heart sped up. Eight women. Eight women. Which one which one, who who-

He couldn't tell them apart. All of his cataloging, the laughter in the back of his head, telling him that one that one, doesn't she look evil and he couldn't trust that laughter, he couldn't trust himself-

They hiked. Everyone else laughed, and he did not, and they all hiked while he tried to pick her out. She'd be walking odd, she'd be trying too hard. Think of Ava - no no, don't think of Ava, god. The smell followed them, got sweeter, bitter, swampier, thick.

Halfway to the cabin, Sam saw a flash of blue through the treeline. The other team. A whoop, a cry, and suddenly everyone was racing to make the cabin first, and thank god, thank god, except that he still didn't know.

And then she turned to him. Her face odd-held, measuring him, she wasn't running with everyone else, she was fake, and she watched him. They watched each other. And she took off through the forest, not toward the cabin, but toward the blue team, fast as anything, and Sam took off after her, yelling "Dean!"

A scream. A scream. A hundred screams, and when Sam arrived through the underbrush which slowed him, he found six people dead on the ground. The other blue team members were huddled together, staring around and at each other and at the head of them was Dean with Charlie, trying to get control of the situation. The red team was coming from another angle to try to help, and everything was so fast. A blur, and then another terrified person stood there, slashed open in an instant, she hadn't yet realized she was dead.

The smell of blood was overwhelming - overwhelming to him now at the sight of the woman's blue shirt torn open neat as surgery, her guts slumping out of the gash, her arms moving weakly to hold them in. She met his eyes just before she went to her knees and then she was gone into the red mud made of blood and earth. And Lucifer strolled through the scene, smirking, fingerguns like a firing squad at the dead woman, blowing the smoke from his fingertip like he'd killed her, and thank god thank god it was a vision, just a vision not real-

"Sam!" Dean yelled, and Sam looked up, found himself standing still amidst chaos. The woman lay in mud, six others lay in the mud, his shoes squelched in the mud the red red mud and it was real, the whole thing was real. He pulled his gun, sprinted across the field to stand with Dean and Charlie. A few members of his own red team were already there, Robbie and Bridget with their pocket knives out. Robbie did a double take at Sam's gun, then at Dean's.

"Wh-what the hell-"

"Shh," Sam said, trying to listen for the next attack.

It came from behind. Sam felt Charlie spin and - take a shot? He looked at Dean, who shrugged. They turned to find Charlie holding out a tiny little pistol, hands shaking. From what Dean said, she'd been a crack shot when he tested her at the range, but in practice, she appeared to not know exactly what to do with the adrenaline. Who could blame her? Seven people had just been gutted in the span of maybe thirty seconds and lay dead in the dirt around her.

Whatever it was that had made the noise didn't decide to attack. Charlie's shot might have scared it off.

"I'm gonna scout the perimeter," Sam said. "Can you get everyone to the cabin?"

"No idea where the key is," Dean said.

"It's in a tree," Charlie hissed. "Probably that one." She nodded to a tree twenty feet ahead of them, toward the cabin, with distinctive hand-shaped branches reaching up to the sky.

"Our clue said 'This is a stick up,'" Sam said. "Cute."

"I can scale the tree," suggested Charlie. "Super useful when you're the prime target of assassination attempts. Sometimes it's less good to be the queen."

"Okay-" Another rustle. Sam got the idea the thing was just playing with them. It didn't come out, just violently shook the branches of nearby brush. "Toss the key down to Dean and get in the cabin-"

"No fucking way-"

"We're not arguing about this-"

Dean grabbed him by the arm. "No, we aren't." And he threw Sam backward into the group of people, threw him with the kind of force Sam remembered from a dungeon where he wasn't himself, where Dean was convinced his brother was gone somewhere, and Lucifer laughed and said something but Charlie took his elbow then to right him, and he blinked at her.

"Okay," he said. "Okay." The rustling in the bushes got more violent, but it was circling around behind them, Dean leading it with profanities. Sam clapped Robbie on the shoulder, looked between him and Bridget. "You guys get everyone to the cabin. Charlie, run for that tree and don't look back. I got your backs."

Robbie looked shell-shocked. There was blood on his face.

"Bridget," Sam said, watching Robbie. "I think it's up to you. Don't yell. Don't draw attention to yourselves. Go as fast as you can."

Bridget stared at him, but unlike Robbie, nodded. She shoved at Robbie, started tugging the others out of their petrified dazes. Behind them, Dean was making a racket, firing his gun at anything that moved. The violent shaking in the thick underbrush continued to move around behind them, leaving them a straight shot through the forest to the cabin. As one, the mass of blue and red who were still alive fled toward the cabin. A quick glanced confirmed that Charlie had taken off like a shot and was already leaping for the bottommost branch of the tree they suspected the key was hidden in.

Sam turned to cover their six, turned to watch out for Dean. Turned just in time -

To see Dean go down with red arcing into the air.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, and fired a shot at whatever must have thrown him down, whatever was still hiding in the trees. "Come out you bastard!"

"Sammy go!" Dean got up on one elbow. "I'm okay just go!"

Sam ignored him, focused on the rustling. The thing hadn't showed itself, even when it threw Dean back into the clearing. Sam couldn't get a shot if he couldn't see it, and he was loathe to fire off his few remaining silver bullets just in case silver would have some kind of effect.

And all the while, Lucifer murmured to him, words too quiet for him to understand, but it didn't matter, because the fact that he could hear Lucifer meant he wasn't fully present, was distracted. What had Amelia said? Focus on counting down real things, feet on the ground, cool grip of a gun in his hand, the pungent smell of blood all around them, ozone, gagging in his throat, and Dean, saying "Sam?" in that urgent worried voice that meant _Dean_ wasn't focused, and Sam opened his eyes just in time to see the blur.

Dean with a shriek vanished into the underbrush. Sam fired three quick shots, then sprinted after them.

"Dean!" Sam called. He came to a stop a minute into the pursuit, because the sound had died down. "Dean!"

"Sam-!"

Sam took off between the trunks of trees, hurdling fall logs and tangled brush. Dean's voice was muffled, which could have been bad but at least it hadn't echoed much; Sam was able to pinpoint the direction pretty well. The tang of copper weighed down the air, even heavier than in the clearing. The ozone smell went beyond promising rain and skipped right on into burning metal. It was disorienting, which was probably the point. But Sam ran anyway, toward Dean's voice.

He came to a stop minutes later, hanging onto a half-dead tree trunk that was the only thing stopping him from going over the edge of a deep rocky ravine. At the bottom of it, he could see the blue of Dean's backpack. On the rock where his feet skidded to a stop, blood.

Sam stared, looked around the forest, down into the ravine.

"Dean!"

The sharp ozone burn in the air was fading, although the heavy scent of blood remained.

"Deeeeeean!"

"Sam! Sammy!"

Sam whirled around to try to pinpoint the direction, but the sound echoed this time off the rocks of the ravine. Dean cried out again, something choking like he was in pain, and shouted, "Watch out, Sammy!" and Sam spun again to find the source, only to see the _thing_ in the thick of the forest, watching him.

It was a shadow of a thing. He couldn't make out the shape as anything more than vaguely man-like in that it seemed to have a torso and stood upright, but it watched him, and that was unlike any animal he knew, unlike a man either. It made a movement; blood tang surrounded them both and all Sam could see was red and all he could hear was the heart in his throat, and he raised his gun.

"You're the goatman," he said, to buy time.

The thing _smiled_. Teeth red, the little white things Sam had thought were vine flowers blinked. The thing had a cluster of them on either side, little white eyes that glowed just a bit as the unnatural fog gathered. Rain began to spatter down against the canopy. There was a blur.

Sam got off his shot, saw the strange white ichor of bullet tearing through its arm and spray onto a dark tree trunk. But it came anyway, enraged, slammed him against the half-dead tree that had saved him from a nasty fall. His feet came off the ground, his back slid up the trunk, bark slicking off against his shirt, splinters into his skin; he could feel how hollow and dead the tree behind him was, how it eased back an inch on its dead roots toward the ravine. How precariously perched he was, with this creature's unnaturally strong force pressing on him not just with hands but with this _presence_ , this blood presence that smothered.

The thing had two arms, long long arms with long long fingers, and legs with backwards knee joints - as it dragged him up the trunk of the tree, it stood to its full height, those knee joints unbending, and it was at least two feet taller than Sam himself - and it was dark matte grey all over its skin so that even as it breathed hot copper breath into Sam's face, it looked like it was a shadow, except for the too-white blinking eyes, glowing in the fog.

"Dean," he grunted out, though the thing's arm across his throat made it impossible to call above a whisper. Dean was going to die wherever he was, if he'd fallen, he'd be stuck. Charlie, Charlie please. Sam teased the bright yellow GPS out of his pocket and clicked the transmitter on. Tossed it into the ravine with a prayer: _Charlie please find him_. And raised his gun with his other hand as the black was closing in.

A shot.

Blackness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Episode Six**  
“The Little Fish”  
Chapter Three

 

“Sam,” Dean said.  “Sammy, come on, get up, we gotta go.”

Sam’s eyelids fluttered.  They felt heavy, or the universe felt heavy.  Sam couldn’t move, didn’t want to move.  Everything was slow.  “Dean?”

“No, it’s me,” Dean said, and as consciousness came, that heavy darkness sped up into Dean is gone that thing took him and threw him over the-- Dean is gone Dean is and he sat up only to find hands pressing him back down to the ground.  Charlie’s face came into focus.  “Whoa, easy Sassafrass.  Do you know where you are?”

“Sassa...”  Sam blinked at her, and then at the little gang of hikers who’d come with her, Robbie and Bridget and Ellie and Chris and one of the blue shirt people Sam didn’t know.  “American... State Forest something,” he mumbled.

“Good enough.  Can you stand up?”

“Dean,” he said, and flipped over onto his stomach out of their hands to drag himself the three feet to the edge of the ravine.  “Dean!!”

“Shh!  That thing could come back any second!”  Charlie and Robbie pulled him backward by the shoulders, and he went easily when Robbie’s grip sent tearing agony through his shoulder and collarbone.

Great.  Juuuuust great.  Sam hissed through his teeth, got his bearings.  “Help me up.”

Charlie and Robbie got him up, Bridget held a bottle of water out for him.  Ellie and Chris stood around looking concerned, but they were a sweet couple to come out looking.

“We followed your GPS -- I didn’t know you knew about that feature.”  

Sam braced himself against the hollow tree and drank from Bridget’s water bottle, other arm hanging limp.  “It’s the same as on mine.  I was hoping it’d lead you to...” He nodded toward the ravine.  “Dean.”

“He’s not down there,” Chris said.  She patted Ellie’s shoulder in pride.  “Ellie’s a decent free-climber.  She’s been down and back up while Charlie’s been waking you.  Your brother isn’t down there.”

Sam chewed his lip.  “Signs of struggle?”

“Like maybe he’d been dragged?  I didn’t want to go too far alone...” Ellie said, trailing off and obviously feeling guilty.

“No, no,” Sam said.  “Of course.”  Dean was gone.  Not dead, maybe.  Just gone.  “Okay.  We’re gonna find him.  And we’re going to get out of here.  Everyone’s back at the cabin okay?”  He handed the water back to Bridget and stepped forward from the tree as he spoke.  Charlie regaled him with the daring tree climb and key toss and rush into the cabin while he focused himself, relaxed his arm, bent it at the elbow and then brought his hand to his stomach, away, back, slow slow relaxed and slow until --

The joint popped back into place and Sam almost dropped to his knees in relief.

“Oh my god,” Robbie said.  “You did not just pop your shoulder back in.  Oh my god.”

“S’fine now,” Sam said.  He looked around for his gun.

“Fine now, he says,” Robbie was saying.  

“He says that a lot,” Charlie said.  “Looking for this?”  She held out Sam’s gun.

“Yes, great, okay--”

Ellie and Chris stared.  Robbie was shaking his head and looking up at heaven.  Bridget frowned and said, “And do we want to know why you brought a gun on a geocaching hike?”

“I can explain, but first we have to get back.  I think I must have injured the... thing.  Maybe it needed to tend a wound more than it needed to eat me.  But we have to get to safety and regroup.  Okay?”

Bridget looked like she was going to argue, but Charlie rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, let’s go.  Get a move on.  Cripes it’s like you guys want to be in a bad SyFy movie.”

 

* * *

 

“Stay close together,” Sam said once they were on their way.  Only he and Charlie had guns, and Charlie’s probably wasn’t loaded with silver bullets.

“No shit,” Robbie said, huddling in closer to Bridget.  Ellie and Chris gave Sam a sympathetic look and walked a little closer to each other too, holding hands.

“You always bargain with fodder?” Charlie asked.

“What?”

She gestured around them.  “Out in the middle of monster city here, and you’re arguing with these people to trust you?  You should have just said, ‘move out or I’m leaving you here.’”

Sam chuckled.  “Yeah, maybe.”

“It’s what Dean would have done.”

Sam frowned.  “Yeah.”

“We’ll find him.”

“I know.”

“You really think you injured it?”

Sam shrugged, watched the treeline.  “I’m still alive.  Maybe I’m just not appetizing enough--”

“No, you’re totally appetizing,” she reassured.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Gotta get some meat on them bones though.”

Sam frowned, flexed his good arm a little.  Yeah, okay.  He hadn’t had much opportunity to get back in shape after having been benched.  And the Trials had kinda taken his appetite and replaced it with an over-sensitive gag reflex.  Like, one whiff of cooked meat from across the bunker sensitive.  But still.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” she said.  He must have been quiet too long.  “Just you know.  I’m used to you being like four feet wide at the shoulder, and you’re like, me-sized now.”

Sam twisted his mouth.

“Okay, not me sized.  But like, definitely no more than a me-and-a-half, which you know, isn’t bad, okay, I just mean--”

“Charlie?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Fine, gawd.”  She bumped her shoulder into him, which was hilarious if only because she hit him at like, elbow level.  But she was winking at him and he smiled, okay.  Fine.

The trek back to the cabin wasn’t short; he’d run quite a way chasing after Dean and the goatman.  But they managed to reach the clearing without seeing any action, knocked on the door with the some special knock of Charlie’s, and when they were let in, there were like six people in blue left and twelve people in red.

Sam frowned.  “Where’s everyone else?”

Curtis on the red team said, “They left.  They left.  Oh God.”

“What do you mean, they left?”

“They got sick of waiting here,” Michelle supplied.  “Like sitting ducks.  We should have gone with them.”

Sam’s heart sank.  

“What?” Charlie hissed, tugging him to the side to have a private conversation.  “You think they’re dead, don’t you.”

“We don’t know that--”

“You do.”

Sam pressed his lips together.  “I think maybe there’s a reason we didn’t get attacked on the way back here,” he admitted.

“Dammit.”

“Okay, listen up,” he said, addressing everyone.  “This is going to sound crazy--”

“Four people were opened up right in front of us!” someone in blue said.

“I know.  And I wish I could tell you something that would make more sense to you, but you’re just going to have to trust me.  There is something in this woods, and it’s not a bear, it’s not a wolf, or anything else you’ve heard about.  It’s dangerous, but we can protect ourselves until we have a better plan.  We all have gear to camp for days, and while it’s... uhm,  unfortunate that we’ve lost half our numbers--”

“Unfortunate??”

“--It does mean we can all comfortably stay inside and ration our supplies more generously.”

“If it’s not a bear or a wolf -- man are you saying there’s some kinda Bigfoot out there?”

Sam laughed.  “I wish.  No.”

“Then what,” from the back.

“Something much worse.”

“A wendigo?”

Sam frowned.  “How do you know about wendigos?”

“Oh my god, I was joking.  Oh my god.”

“Okay, everyone just calm down.  It’s not a wendigo, but yeah, those are real.  Sorry.  Look, this is kinda what I do.  Me and my brother--”

“My brother,” Charlie volunteered.  Then ducked her head sheepishly.  “I mean, not really, but the guy who you thought was my brother, yeah.  Just pretending.”

“We came out here to hunt this thing.”

“Great job!”

“Shut up,” Charlie said.

“No, it’s fine,” Sam said.  “We weren’t prepared for you guys to be out here.  We split ourselves up and did our best, and we’ve lost people, and my brother’s gone, taken by this thing.”  He watched them, they weren’t calming down, but mentioning his missing brother seemed to sober them up a bit about it.  “We’re gonna survive this.  But you have to trust me.”

 

* * *

 

Charlie stood back and watched a moment once everyone had jobs and was making themselves useful.  Sam was at the moment helping someone sort the supplies they’d all dumped out of their backpacks, but he’d already guided someone through painting the walls with this weird protective symbol Charlie recognized from the sheets of paper Kevin and Crowley had decorated Sam’s walls with.  

Another group was scavenging the supplies that had been set up for the winning team, setting up bunks for sleeping.  The first thing Sam had done was look for weapons, but for a geocaching game where everyone was mostly supposed to have brought their own stuff, self-defense wasn’t something the cabin was outfitted for.  There were spare batteries for GPS devices, extra chocolate bars, flashlights in case people had forgotten or broken or lost their own, makings for fresh food so that the winning team didn’t have to eat the rations they’d have packed in their backpacks, and three pocket knives.

Sam had frowned at the cache of supplies in thought, then decided they’d share the chocolate, refresh anyone’s batteries who needed them, and keep the spare flashlights in a central location.  He took the pocket knives and started directing teams to set up sleeping areas, make some food for everyone at the kitchenette, paint protective markings, and sort the supplies.

Charlie watched with a kind of strange detachment.  She’d broken her arm in the fight against Dick Roman, she’d come face to face with a crazy actual real life dark wizard guy, almost scored with a hot fairy chick, and gone through some pretty terrible video-game-related PTSD because of that stupid djinn.  But none of that stuff had involved watching people get filleted right in front of her.  None of it had threatened her life in quite the blood and gore way this whatever it was was threatening it.

“Charlie?”

Charlie looked up from her daze.  Sam had left the supply sorters to their job and now he stood in front of her, looking concerned, holding his backpack by a strap.

“You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be okay?” she said.  “Are you okay?”

Sam frowned.  “I’m not worried about Dean.”

Charlie rolled her eyes.  “A) you’re a terrible liar, and B) that’s not what I was talking about.”  She nodded at his shoulder, and his hand went to it in acknowledgement, massaging gently.

Sam watched her a moment, his face unreadable.  Charlie had noticed that, actually.  That when he wasn’t obviously in pain or happy, he kind of watched things happen, little wrinkle in his forehead, deciding how to react, or maybe how to appear to react.

“I’m fine, Charlie,” he said, voice low.  Then the side of his mouth crooked up and he said, “Thanks.  But I am going to find Dean.”

Charlie nodded.  “What can I do?”

Sam sighed.  “I got two jobs left.  You pick.  We still make and put up these totems outside.”  He nodded at the pages now plastering the walls.  “I got Ellie and Chris working on making them right now.  But the placement has to be precise, the exact cardinal corners of the space we’re protecting.  It’s at least a two man job, someone with a gun, watching the other person’s back.”

Charlie raised her brows.  “What’s the other job?”

Sam pulled the three pocket knives from the supply cache from his pocket.  “Sharpen these, and then bless them over burning witchlace and salt.”

“While chanting in a funny language?”

“Obviously.”

“Um, door number two, I guess.”

“Good choice.”

“Who are you going to take to help you put up the totems?”

Sam looked guilty.

“Sam?”

“I can handle it myself.  Better me than some kid who goes out into the woods once a year.”

“Sam.”

His guilty hangdog look hardened as he stared at nothing, right in front of her he went from morose puppy lion to cold-blooded killer.  He reached into his backpack and pulled out a box with etchings carved into it, burned out black, set it on the counter she was leaning against.  “Witchlace and sea salt.”  On top of the box, he put a folded piece of paper, tapped it.  “Incantation.  You know how to sharpen a blade.”

"Y...eah?  How did you know I--”

“Get to work,” he said, deflated, resigned.  His cold exterior resolved into a sort of business-like shell and Charlie thought she got it.  

Dean didn’t do that, Dean cracked jokes right up until the bloody end.  Sam didn’t work that way.  A pang burned in her belly as she remembered how she’d wanted to go with Dean when they split up, sure for strategic reasons, but also because he was just more fun.  Did Sam even have fun?  And if he didn’t, who could blame him?  Their lives had treated them differently, and it wasn’t exactly a secret that Dean’s “fun” was a defense mechanism the same way Sam’s whole down to business thing was.  Maybe he was just always in defense mode with brief instances of being able to be sarcastic or kind now and then.  God, sad.  Charlie felt like an asshole.  Sam started to turn away.

“Wait--”

Sam turned back halfway, he looked prepared to argue.  Charlie put on her best “pweeeease” face, the thing that got people to do things for her when being Queen wasn’t appropriate.

“Stay until I’m done with this, okay.  And then I’ll help you with the totems.”

Sam watched her, looked off after a moment.  She knew he was thinking about the daylight they were losing, the time Dean was missing, possibly injured, possibly dying,  while they weren’t looking for him.  He’d put people on jobs to get things done efficiently, and she was putting a wrench in it.

She saw the moment he relented; his shoulders sagged, he shook his head a little and looked at the floor.

“Fine.  Okay.”

They made a nice little assembly line, actually.  Charlie gave the first blade a quick sharpening while Sam prepped the little pyre on the brick of the hearth, drizzled the salt and crushed the leaves, said a little incantation, then he moved on to make the next little pyre while Charlie held the blade in the flame and said her bit.  She watched to see if the metal looked different because it was being “blessed” or whatever, and she thought maybe it looked shinier, but she was also fully willing to admit she might have just been looking for magic wherever she could find it.  Beside her, Sam’s soft low tenor murmured like a prayer, not gravel like Dean, but smooth and practiced.  He was so somber where she felt stupid; she tried to mimic him, tried to sound serious, just ended up sounding even stupider.  

When she finished blessing her first blade, she looked at him from the side.  “I feel like a monk or something.”

Sam chuckled.  It gave his somber words a bit of a lift, and he paused long enough to say “You’re doing great.”

She beamed at him, then set the blessed blade aside and started sharpening the second one.  About ten minutes later, they were finished with all three of them.  Sam pocketed one, pushed the other two into Charlie’s hands, and said, “Come on.  These totems aren’t gonna stick themselves into the ground.”

The ground outside was soft from a recent rain, which was a blessing.  Sam was pretty good at judging distance, had his old-school compass out to pinpoint the exact location for each of the totems.  The totems themselves had been carefully fashioned from live wood, tall and thin with cross pieces at precise angles, a splash of paint in three slashes at the base of it, three dots, then two more slashes.  Charlie could lift one of them without it getting too unwieldy, but of course Sam could carry all four of them easily and still get coordinates worked out with his injured arm.  He’d pressed his gun into her hands with a soft cover me, and she wondered how he thought he was going to do all of it alone before.

“The knife,” she said, “and these totems and the symbols inside the cabin -- I thought you didn’t know how to kill a goatman.”

“We don’t.  These are protective against danger, really general.  It’s always better,” he said, grunting as he twisted the northmost totem into the dirt, “to use something specific to the creature.  But when you don’t have that...”  He shrugged.

“Right.  And the knives?”

Sam picked up the last totem and they headed for the east corner of the clearing.  “Specific to the location here, and the sort of... classification of the creature -- as in, it’s a beast of some sort, not a ghost or a demon.  And those are the silver bullets in that gun,” he added, nodding at the gun in her hands.  “Kind of all-purpose.”

“So you’re basically saying you came out here with practically nothing.”

Sam stopped and looked at her.  “People were dying, Charlie.  We didn’t have time to keep researching a dead end.”

“Okay okay.  I just thought.  You’re usually the prepared one.”

Sam was quiet.  He started toward the eastern point again.  “I rushed us into this hunt,” he said after a moment.  “I thought he’d -- but now he’s gone.”

“Like you said, people were dying.  You had to come, right?”

“Right.”  Sam footed the totem into the soft soil and heaved downward with both arms, grimacing.

Charlie watched him.  Somewhere in there, she’d said the wrong thing.  She meant to say something about how awesome it was that he knew stuff that could help them, stuck in the middle of the woods without the benefit of research books or whatever.  She’d had this image in her mind of him sitting around with papers just reading and highlighting and translating, probably because of that dumb book series, but he was able to give people things to do, ways to be useful.  The crazy terror that had paralyzed everyone in the group into shouting and crying had vanished once people had purpose, and she was going to tell Sam thanks for that, good job on that, way to go, bro.  But it didn’t come out like that.  Maybe it was Sam, his tendency to downplay, the way he just dripped guilt, and she’d gotten caught up in it, she’d gotten wound up in how little he and Dean had come into this hunt knowing.  Off guard by the idea that--

\--crap.  The idea that they did this all the time, walked in without knowing whether they’d be walking back out.  And she’d gotten irritated.

“Sam--”

“Charlie,” Sam said.  He half turned to her, didn’t look her in the face, and now he was resigned.  “Take care of these kids.”

“Sam, wait--”

“I gotta get going.”  He looked up at the sky; it promised maybe a few hours of daylight before dark.  “And I’m going alone.”

“No.  I’m coming with you.  You aren’t the only one who cares about him--”

“This isn’t about that, Charlie.  It’s about them.  They’re who we came out here to save.”

“They’re protected now--”

“And what happens when someone decides to make a break for it, Charlie?  We’ve already lost too many people.  They need you, your level head.  Keep this,” he said, putting his hand over hers on his gun.  “You’re a better shot than any of them, if something happens.  Look out for the smell of copper, or ozone.”

“Blood or rain.”

“Yeah.  And do a head count every half hour.  You know these people by now.  If you ever come up with an extra person, don’t be too obvious about it.  But take that person out.  They’re counting on you, Charlie.  I’m counting on you.”

“Sam, this is crazy--”

“No kidding,” he said, chuckling.  “Give that second knife to someone you trust.  I suggest Bridget--”

“Bridget with the... arm?”

“She can handle a knife just fine.  Watch her when she’s working sometime.  And she’s got a level head like you.”

“Okay.”

“Charlie.  You got this.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Hey, wait.”  She pulled her GPS out of her jacket pocket and gave it to him.  “If you get hurt, or you need help with Dean, or whatever -- just hit the bat signal, okay?”

Sam looked at the yellow device in his hands, then up at her, and she saw that if the thing wasn’t dead, if it wasn’t safe for her to come out, there was no way in hell he’d push the button, and her heart raced thinking he would rather die than have someone risk themselves to come save him.

“Okay?” she pressed.

“Okay,” he lied.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke without moving, no indrawn breath of shock, nothin’.  Wherever he was, it was quiet.  Nothing moving, drip drip of some water somewhere and the echo sounded like he was in some cave somewhere.  Great.  

Well, he wasn’t hung up like a microwavable dinner in a wendigo’s pantry, which was a plus.  He was on his side on the ground, rocks digging into his bruised ribs.  He opened his eyes a crack when he was pretty sure nothing big was moving around.  Dark, but there was some light out of his peripheral, yellow like an oil-burning lamp.  The smell of ozone hung around the place, but he thought maybe it was like, residual or whatever.

So Dean tried to move, just flex first, to see -- and yeah, no he wasn’t tied up.  Maybe the thing thought he was gonna be out longer.  And, oh, frick, yeah his head ached when he turned it, but he did get a better view of the place.  Seemed like the thing had left him alone.  But who knew when it’d come back?

Dean levered himself up, a shock of pain in his leg, another pounding throb of his head, the whole thing took his breath away, but he was sitting up after minutes of effort, sweating as he sat back against a rock.  Yep, a cave.  Awesome.  Dripping water, critters with lots of legs, the works.  The mouth of the cave emptied into the kind of black that meant there was a tunnel between him and freedom.  Against the farther wall, half of a kind of makeshift table was lit in light, just a flat slab of stone really, but it had cloth and at least one knife, a bundle of... herbs?  Shit, was this thing going to cook him?  Jesus.

Okay, okay.  Take stock, stupid.  Lately he’d been waking up badly, sitting straight up or waking with surprise, but he thought that was about the stress of Sam and Lucifer or Sam and Trials or Sam and his damned shoulder or his inability to eat or his nightmares -- but it was always Sam and on some level, he hoped, he must have known it was safe to wake up like that.  Now, without something to reassure him, he was waking up like they’d been trained again.  Which was good, and also kind of really fucking sad.  God he missed his own bed.

But yeah -- wow, he had taken a knock on the noggin, because thoughts appeared and swam away without really taking hold, but he could do this -- Winchester up.

Head: maybe a concussion?  Definitely a goose-egg right there behind his ear, tacky with dried blood.  Leg: well, there was a tear in his jeans, stiff, again with dried blood.  The gash burned, but had stopped bleeding and when he reached down to try to assess the damage, he found the cut was packed with some kind of weird antiseptic smelling mud.  Because of course, you don’t want your meat to be tainted when you slice and dice it.  Gross.

Everything else seemed to just be bruising, his ribs, across his chest, his hip where he’d been laid on the floor of the cave.  But he attempted to get up only to find he couldn’t quite put weight on his leg, sank back down the floor anyway because the world tilted.  Dammit.

In the distance, echoing a bit down the tunnel and coming like an accusation into the cave, the sound of a thing, moving toward him, a kind of shuffling step, a hiss like the thing was in pain.  He’d heard a gunshot -- maybe Sam had injured it.  Oh God, Sam -- please be okay, please be okay--

Dean took a breath, a second, then pushed himself forward.  The uneven rocky ground scraped against his bruised chest, but he army crawled at speed for the table, for that glinting blade on it, some kind of advantage, he was going down fighting, if he was going down.  And God he was gonna keep from going down, because if Sam was alive, he knew the kid wasn’t going to stop looking for Dean until he was dead, until this thing killed him.  Whatever Dean thought about how well Sam could take care of himself, the fact was, Sam went off the rails without him.  Sam on demon blood might be able to take this thing out even if it wasn’t a demon, but what he’d do to himself to get revenge, what he’d give up because Dean was gone -- and yeah he’d really wanted to talk out the whole Purgatory thing and now unless he survived this, he’d never get the chance to talk to Sam about what was different about the last time Dean “died,” when he really needed saving, what made Sam think it wasn’t worth trying--

But be nice about it, Dean thought, reaching to pull himself up to the table.  The last thing he needed to do was push Sam over the edge when he was pretty sure Sam was kinda like, barely holding on or whatever.

The shuffling in the tunnel got closer, kicked a stone into the wall and the sound echoed.  Dean froze, hand on the handle of the knife, prepping himself for the tear and burn that he’d have to fight through to fight this thing hand to hand.  A deep breath, the thought of Sam out there chasing him.  Dean needed to survive because if he died, he was pretty sure Sam would be close behind, one way or the other.

The thing growled at the door, slow-moving, Sam must have winged it, and Dean turned with his knife hand hidden, and he said:

“Come and get it.”

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Episode Six**  
“The Little Fish”  
Chapter Four

 

Fifteen minutes out of the cabin, Sam still had no idea how to kill the thing, nevermind how he was going to find it.  He figured it had dragged Dean back to its home base, and either way, his first goal was to find Dean, save Dean--

_\--the arc of red into the air as Dean flies back into the clearing from the underbrush, onto his back, and he’s turning toward Sam to tell him he’s fine, just get to the cabin, Sam who is trying to sort what is real from what is something Lucifer is showing him--_

Sam moved through the brush along an animal trail, back toward where he’d first encountered the creature one on one.  Dean’s trail would pick up at the bottom of that ravine, and Sam would just have to find him.  They could work out how to hunt the thing once Dean was found.  But Sam remembered the red of Dean’s blood, in the air and on the rock where he disappeared -- if he was alive (he _was_ alive, Sam would know somehow if he wasn’t), Dean was still injured.  

What a fucking failure of a hunt.  Way to go, Sammy.

By the time he found the ravine, he’d collected together his mental notes about the goatman into a tidy list.  The thing he’d come face to face with wasn’t like anything in the Letters archives or the witness accounts.  They mostly said it looked like a person, maybe with a strange unmoving face, sometimes with awkward movements -- because it wasn’t a person, it just looked like one.  Sam broke into the clearing at the ravine.  There was the dead tree where the thing had pinned him, busted his shoulder up again, choked him into black, and then it dragged Dean off--

Leaves, spattered white with the creature’s blood, more of it near the tree where it bled while Sam struggled futilely.    Sam catalogued again -- white blood, dusty dark grey skin, backward hinged legs, clusters of little white eyes on either side of its head Sam had mistaken for vine flowers.  He’d never seen anything quite like it.  It didn’t seem to match the lore, but then, sightings were rare, and it hunted by taking on human form and blending in.  Maybe he’d been the first hunter to set eyes on the thing and live -- so far -- to talk about it.

Sam sighed, shook his head.  He’d have to track it with the blood.

* * *

 

The smell wasn’t so intense.  They had the cabin windows open because it had gotten stuffy with everyone so worried, working, breathing.  They needed fresh air.  But that meant the residual scent of the goatman lingered.  Of course, the rumbling in the distance meant the rainy ozone smell would only intensify.  It made her nervous.

Charlie counted.  Sixteen people in red, six people in blue, not counting herself.  Sam said to count them, and she couldn’t _not_ count them once he’d said that.  Because he was gone, and this was on her, all these people and their lives, on her, oh crappity crap.  

She could do it.  Sam said she could, so she could.  Also, she was a badass.  She hefted the gun, slid it down the back of her hiking shorts the way Sam and Dean did, and counted again.  There were supposed to be sixteen people in red.  There were fifteen.  It meant someone was out checking the perimeter, logically.  If the goatman showed up, there’d be seventeen.  But the numbers not matching up still made her nervous.  

Everything made her nervous.

Bridget came up to her.  “Okay.  We did some sorting.  We got food for all of us for probably three days, altogether.  We can stretch to probably five or six if people do just one meal a day, but we got a few with blood sugar issues, so not everyone can do that.  I confiscated the chocolate bars for emergencies and only the blood sugar kids know where they are.  Perimeter’s getting checked as we speak.”

Charlie blew out a breath.  That was confirmation of that.  Okay.  “Okay, good.  That’s good.”

“So what else should we do?”  

Charlie chewed on her lip.  Food, protective sigils, totems outside giving them a perimeter.  She didn’t know what else there was to do.  “I--”  She swallowed.  All these people depended on her.  “I’m not.  Um.”

“Hey,” Bridget said.  “Aren’t you the Queen of Moondor?”

Charlie blinked.  “Um.  Yeah.”

“I saw you on youtube.”

“You’re into-- I mean, not that you couldn’t be.  I just.”  Charlie went pink.

Bridget rolled her eyes, lifted her shortened left arm.  “Because of my arm, right? I can’t hold a sword or something?”

“No, I mean, that’s not what I’m saying--”

“Chill out, Red.  I’m just playin’.  I’d probably be a wizard or something anyway.  I’m not into it--” she said when Charlie was about to launch into her recruitment spiel.  “But if I was, I’m just saying, I’d be a kickass wizard.  My _point_ was, you’re a queen, dude.  So step up.”

“Well if I’m queen, you’re my second in command.”

Bridget winked.  “Like your consort?”

Charlie raised a brow, grinned, smug, then shut it down with some regret.  “I have a girlfriend.”

“Sure.”

Charlie blinked long.  “Did I magic myself into the gayest hunting job ever or what?”

“What, because of Chris and Ellie?”  They glanced over at the couple, holding hands near the fireplace, shell-shocked and talking quietly with a couple of other people.  “No.  You and me, Chris and Ellie, and Robbie and your friend Sam, that’s it on this trip I think.”

“Sam’s not gay.”

Bridget looked surprised, raised her brows.  “Somebody oughta tell Robbie that.  Poor kid.”

Charlie frowned.  “I mean I _think_ he’s not gay.  He’s had girlfriends but I mean, who hasn’t dipped in the wrong end of the pool, know what I’m sayin’?”

“No, I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“--Or he could be bi...”

“Whatever.  It doesn’t matter.  Robbie’s completely freaked out by this whole monster thing.  I think he’s lost his thirst for climbing that particular tree.”

Charlie stared for a moment.  “Gross.  I mean don’t get me wrong.  Sam definitely needs to get laid.  But gross.”

“What.  Robbie’s not good enough--?”

“No.  No, it’s just -- Sam’s like my _brother_.  I don’t wanna hear about -- no, gross.  Anyway.  I think everything’s taken care of for now.  I mean, food, shelter.  Sam says these marks and the ones outside will keep practically anything of an evil monstery nature out of here.  We just have to wait for him to give the signal saying the thing is dead.”

“So... you’re saying we can just what.  Sit around and play board games or talk about who’s gay or whatever?”

Charlie shrugged.  “I guess.”

Charlie did not play board games or chat about who was gay or whatever.  Bridget got some help pulling down the board games and made sure people were doing things rather than brooding.  She was pretty good at it.  So Charlie sat and counted people instead.  Six people in blue.  Fifteen people in red.  Six in blue.  Fifteen in red.

The door opened, fine, someone was checking the perimeter--

“That’s insane--”

“No it’s not. The beauty of the film is--”

Charlie stared at the two people walking in the door, one in red, one in blue.

_Seven people.  Seven people on the blue team._  She looked through the room, trying to make notes, trying to find -- she pulled Sam’s gun from the back of her shorts, pointed it at a dark-haired girl from her team, someone she knew was named Melanie.  Someone she was sure went down bloody next to Beth, her sister.  Someone she’d been relieved to know was alive after all.  But.

“You’re dead,” Charlie said.  Ellie and Chris had been chatting with “Melanie.”  They turned to her with wide eyes.  “I saw you die.  I didn’t remember.  I thought it was just Beth.  But you both died.  You both died.”

Melanie stood, hands up.  “This is crazy.”  She edged toward the door and people let her, unsure.  “You’re crazy.”

“You’re the goatman we’re hunting.”

Melanie frowned, took off for the door, and Charlie took her shot.  Red splattered onto the wall, but the goatman kept running, was gone.  With it, the scent of ozone she’d thought was coming rain, she’d thought was residual.  It’d been here all along, waiting for a window to slice them up, or trying to ... to what, spy on them?

She turned to Chris and Ellie, heart pounding.  “Did it say anything to you?”

Chris put a comforting arm around Ellie’s shoulder.  “She-- it was asking about Sam,” she said.  Ellie nodded.

“Yeah,” Hadley said from the corner.  “She asked me if I knew where Sam went.”

It was hunting down Sam.  It had held off killing them all to find out where Sam was.  Shit.  Shit.  “What’d you tell it?”

Ellie shrugged helplessly.  “That he was going to hunt down the creature.  She wasn’t on our team, didn’t know Sam, so I was -- I was trying to reassure her.  I said Sam was a hunter, that he was a good tracker.  I said he was probably already tracking the thing down.  Oh God.  It’s going to kill him.  Oh God.”

“It’s not your fault,” Charlie said.  “Sam’s gonna be fine.  He does this for a living.”  She turned away.  It was _totally_ their fault, of course.  She eyeballed Bridget and tilted her head for a private conference, and when Bridget came over, she said, “I gotta go warn Sam.  I got my blessed knife, and I’m taking this gun.  No one leaves this room.  Close the windows.”

“Charlie, this is stupid.”

Charlie grinned.  “I know.  I’m so dead.”  She leaned forward and gave Bridget a kiss right on the lips.

Bridget stood there, stunned, and Charlie winked.  She grabbed her backpack on her way out the door, and heard Bridget yell after her:  “You have a girlfriend!”

* * *

Tracking the thing by its blood was easier than he thought it’d be, but still pretty damned difficult.  The white ichor was chalkie and it stuck to the leaves and underbrush like milkweed sap, but he’d only winged it and the drops and smudges were few and far between.  Luckily, he happened to be a decent tracker -- an injured animal takes easier paths, is clumsier.  Broken branches, overturned stones.  The thing’s stride was huge, but it apparently ran four-legged, splayed handprints in the mud here and there.

And then the sense came to him, the quiet of the forest in the presence of a predator.  According to the trail, the thing had veered to the left, just slightly, then took a sharp turn back toward the cabin, maybe to double back, or maybe, he thought as the smell came up in a swift cloud of metal bite, the swell of copper -- maybe it was just circling him.  Toying with him.  

Sam let it, led it off of its own path, off the easier path the injured thing had been taking, toward a stand of skinny trees that grew close together a bit of a hike off.  Cover for Sam, hindrance for the thing that stood two full feet taller than him.  He plotted a course toward it, over a ridge and across a ravine over which some dead tree had become a bridge. He pretended to see signs, pretended to track it, pretended to be a hopeless victim.  For twenty minutes, he pretended.

And then as soon as he’d gotten across the ravine, it came out of the brush like a wild dog, three times as big, a sleek grey shadow made of muscle and cleverness.  Sam went down and they rolled.  Sam struck upward with his blessed knife, the blade bit into something and it backed off.  Stood grasping at its arm, white blood seeping from between its long, clawed fingers, flares on the either side of its head thrown open at the injury, curling back like the horns that must have given it the name _goatman_ , blinking those clusters of eyes at him, mouth open like a snake preparing to strike--

Sam turned and ran for the trees, slipping among them seconds before they bent toward him with the weight of the thing chasing him.  The trunks creaked, but held, and Sam spun to face the thing, lunged forward to slash with his blessed knife and it howled at the contact, threw a long limb forward toward Sam.  The claws caught him across the chest but barely broke skin, just shoved him sideways into a tree trunk and he saw stars, slumped momentarily as his body lost contact with his brain, but the thing was caught for the moment, long enough to get his breath back, long enough for his vision to resolve.  He held his knife up as a warning, buying time--

But a crack rang out, the snap-echo of a gunshot, and the thing reared up, shrieking, those horns flaring, backwards-jointed legs folding in pain and it took off.

Sam sank against the tree.  His shoulder was burning, his head --

“Sam!  Are you okay?  Oh my god--”

“Charlie?  What are you doing here?”

She helped him sit, winced in sympathy at the way he favored his shoulder.  “I was coming to warn you.  Guess I was too late.”

“Warn me?”

“That thing showed up at the cabin looking like one of our dead friends.  It was asking where you went before anyone noticed.  I’m sorry.  It got past me.  It must be really fast though.  It took off the opposite direction you went and still beat me to you -- I mean if anyone had seen the direction you left in, I’d have never made it before it -- before you--”

Sam looked up at her as she babbled, obviously keyed up, in shock maybe, she resolved into one image, and she was crying, shaking.  “Shh,” he said, pulled her into his chest and smoothed her hair.  “You made it.  I’m okay.  I’m okay.”

She nodded without pulling away.  Sam gave her some time to get herself together, rubbed her back and she folded into him gratefully, this tiny little sister with the fruity shampoo.  Why why why did she have to come out here?  “How’d you find me, anyway?” he asked.

She laughed, short and loud and embarrassed.  Sat back up and away from him, drying her cheeks with her palms and sniffing and grinning the giddy grin of someone who had survived something.  “Check your pocket.”

Sam patted himself down, felt the GPS device she’d given him.  When he pulled it out, he saw the tracker was turned on.  He faced it toward her, accusing.  “Charlie.  Not cool.  You could have been killed.”

She shrugged.  “You’re welcome.  So, okay.  I brought this.” She produced a blood-stained piece of cloth.  

Sam took the piece of fabric.  “You shot it?”

“Oh my god yeah, I did.  I’m a badass!”  She looked surprised at herself.  “I thought you could like, track the thing with it or something.  It tore off her sleeve when she was running away.”

“What am I supposed to do, get its scent?  I’m not a bloodhound, Charlie.”

“Well I don’t know!  Do... huntery stuff with it!  Can’t you do like magic on it or something?”

Sam shook his head, amused, then--  “Wait.  Wait.  When did this all happen?”

“Like just now?  I took off right after it did.”  She looked at her phone.  “Maybe fifteen minutes it took me to find you?”

Sam frowned.  “Charlie.  That thing has been following me for at least half an hour.”

“What?”

“And this blood is red.”

“So?”

He looked down at his own shirt, at the bright white ichor staining it from his first run in with the thing.  “So the thing we’re hunting bleeds white.”  He pushed up from the ground and inspected the slender trunks of the trees the thing had pressed against trying to get him.  Swiped his fingers through more white smudges and showed them to Charlie in evidence.

“Wait, are you saying I shot Melanie, like for real?”

“No, she wouldn’t have run.  You wouldn’t have come up with an extra person.”

“Well then... it had a human body when I shot it, and it didn’t either time you fought it.”

Sam frowned.  “I don’t think that’s it.”  He looked at her.  “It walked right past the wards?”

Charlie nodded, shrugged.  “Maybe they just don’t work on this thing.”

Sam looked down at the knife in his hand, stained with the thing’s blood.  “Or maybe there’s another thing hunting in these woods.”

* * *

They hid behind a fallen log after a forty-five minute hike through uneven terrain.  

“Are you sure about this?”

Sam shook his head.  “Not even a little.”  They crouched behind the fallen log, looking down from a ridge onto the mouth of a cave. Sam turned and slid down the log to sit in the dirt, closing his eyes briefly.  His shoulder ached.  His chest was on fire with the thing’s claws.  His head was starting to ache, his lungs rattled -- adrenaline could only get him so far before the Trials started waging war in him again.  He felt Charlie’s fingers probe his temple and hissed.

“Are we resting?” she whispered.

“Just for a minute.”

“Then let me look at your owie.”

She taped a folded piece of gauze over what was apparently a cut on his temple.  If it didn’t need stitches, if it didn’t even _bother_ him, Sam didn’t see the point in covering it, but it made Charlie feel better.  He understood the value of that.  He did plenty of pointless things just to try to feel better.

“Okay,” he said after he’d caught his breath.  “You just stay here.  I’m going down.”

She nodded, but crouched, looking down into the dip in the landscape over the log.  

“Charlie, _stay._ ”

“I know, god.”

Sam put his hand on her shoulder.  “You’re my backup.  I _need_ to know where you are for my own safety.  It won’t be heroics if you follow me and I don’t know about it, got it?”

Her shoulders slumped.  “Okay, got it.”

“Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“I know.  Oh, here--”  She tried to hand him back his Taurus and he pushed it back toward her.

“I need you to cover me.”

Her grin lit up her face.  “Oh my god, I always wanted someone to tell me that.”

Sam winked.  “Wait for my signal.”

He crept down the embankment as quietly as he could, picking through the fall of debris carefully.  There were rocks embedded throughout, and he managed to find solid ground under every step.  There was no activity around the mouth of the cave; he didn’t have much other choice than just going in and hoping for the best.  But he had a flashlight, and the knife, whatever good that did him.  And Dean.  Dean was in this cave, he was sure of it.

The forest around him was quiet, but he noted there _were_ sounds, nothing like the absolute silence of an area that had been cleared by a predator.  No sounds of something else stalking him the way he was stalking the cave mouth, no suspect shadows among the trees surrounding the little clearing--

But then the burning metal scent of ozone descended like a blanket, and Sam’s heart pounded and he whirled, hand out even though he was pretty sure the knife would do nothing to this creature.

It came out of the trees like a wendigo, bowled him over and sat on his chest, light grey skin, too long neck, long-fingered hands.  Clusters of eyes blinked pale blue at him, two horns with tufts of white inside them flared out and up into an arc over its head, a fall of fluttery fur inside the fleshy light grey folds.  The thing raised a large clawed hand to strike.  “I’m not here to hurt you--!” Sam managed.  There was a shriek from Charlie’s cover and then she was sliding down the ridge to come to his aid--

“Wait, stop!”

Dean swayed at the mouth of the cave, leaning against the stone heavily, panting.  The creature over Sam turned to look at him.

Dean held out his hands, one to Charlie and one to the creature, like _listen, pal_ , and said, “If Sammy wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.  Let him up.”

The creature looked back down at Sam, tilted its head, then pulled back and Sam scrambled out from under it until his back found a tree trunk and he rested his head back.  

The creature fell back as well swiping its long-fingers hand down over its face.  “Oh thank god,” it said.

* * *

“So this isn’t the goatman we’re looking for,” Charlie said, swiping a Jedi mind trick through the air.  She glanced at the creature who’d attacked Sam, the thing she’d almost put a bullet into before Dean had stopped the whole thing.  It had taken on a more human form, a dark-haired girl Dean thought he recognized from the blue team.  Melanie, he thought.  Yeah.  They were all seated in the room Dean had first snapped awake in, now he knew it was the main living area of the goatman, properly warded and pretty homey, actually.

“No,” Dean said, and Sam said, “Not anymore,” without looking up from where he was sewing the gash in Dean’s leg up.

“Thank god you figured it out,” Dean said.  “My cell phone is busted.  I couldn’t call you--”

“No signal out here anyway,” Sam said.  He tied off a stitch.

Dean frowned at him.  Well wasn’t _he_ all-business.

“How’d you know?” the goatman said.

Sam nodded at the wound on the goatman’s arm.  “Charlie came to find me after you came to the cabin looking for me.  She had a piece of the shirt you left behind, red with blood.  But I--” he said, pulling on the collar of his shirt to display the stain, “took a piece out of the one stalking _me_.  White blood.  Then I remembered the Australian stories, how the goatman was a kind of helper creature who guided lost wanderers back to civilization, and it struck me how sometimes we’d only smell blood _or_ ozone, not both.  Then I remembered the survivor of the bloodbath that led us here had no memory of getting herself to the ranger’s station, she must have been taken there by someone, or something.  Then, of course.  The fact that this blessed blade took a hell of a chunk out of the thing I was fighting, but _you_ could just waltz through the wards at the cabin--”

“Which ones did you use?” Dean asked.

“Those leyline-local Polish ones from the--”

“Right, right,” Dean nodded.  “Good call--”

“Uhm,” Charlie said.  “English please?”

Sam sat back from Dean’s freshly stitched leg and closed his eyes, hissing as he massaged his shoulder, so Dean said, “The blessed knives and the wards are from the same lore.  If this guy--” Dean gestured at “Melanie” -- “could walk right through the wards, but Sam’s knife affected the thing _he_ was fighting, they had to be two different things.  I’m guessing,” he said to the goatman, “Sam’s blade wouldn’t affect you much.  Right?”

The goatman who looked like Melanie shrugged.  “No more than any other blade.”

“So you’re saying the stuff we did to protect against him,” Charlie said, jerking her thumb at the creature, “really protects against the other thing.”

Sam nodded.

“But you said the stuff you used was just basic protection stuff--”

Sam shrugged, one-shouldered, and Dean frowned.  “We don’t have any more specific lore--”

“So we’re basically just lucky it works on the bad guy, and the guy it doesn’t work on turned out to be a good guy.”

Sam sighed, looked off.  “Yeah.”

“Holy crap, how have you guys stayed alive all this time?”

Dean frowned hard at Charlie.  “Badassness, mostly,” he said.  “We’re not stupid.  Those wards Sam put up protect against evil.  They don’t work on something that isn’t dangerous.  This isn’t luck, Charlie.  It’s skill.   Genius, if I do say so myself--”

Sam chuckled.  “If you do say so yourself,” he muttered.

“What.  I did teach you everything you know.”

“I’m pretty sure the Men of Letters archives taught me some stuff.  And you know college.  And a lifetime of being dumped at the library.  But sure.  You can have this one.”

“Look who’s a big man,” Dean laughed.  Sam’s brief descent into self-pity at Charlie’s needling faded a bit.  Sam smiled, coughed, frowned.  Awesome, more good news.  “Well, whatever.  You found me.  You figured out there were two things in the woods.”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Sam admitted.  “I hoped -- but there was just as good a chance the other thing had taken you.  I came here hoping to at least find an ally.”

“You did,” the goatman said, bowing its head.   “My name is Ionecsa,” the goatman said, in Melanie’s bubbly voice.  

“Sam,” Sam said, nodding.  “And this is Charlie.  Ionesca, that other thing out there.  It’s a goatman too, isn’t it.  There aren’t two _different_ things in this woods, are there.”

Dean raised his brows.  “Tell him what you told me, Nessie.”

Ionesca made itself comfortable, sitting cross-legged on the ground.  “You are correct.  But it is a rogue, I swear it.  We are a peaceful people--”

“Something had to have changed that rogue goatman.  If the wards work--”

“Something did.  The goatman who hunted you is called Ryelka, and it is one of the oldest among us.  The legend goes that Ryelka was the first of the dark ones.  Clan murdered, Ryelka sought revenge and grew to lust for killing.  It made its choice, and its soul was twisted.  It is more powerful than any other goatman, save Lya, Ryelka’s sibling.  Lya made a different choice, to come to the aid of those who are lost.  The two of them are like gods to us, devil and deity, progenitors of our kind to this day.  We are born in the likeness of Lya, and remain so unless we fall to Ryelka’s call.  It is a choice we make every day, to be like Lya and shun Ryelka.”

Sam frowned.  “This isn’t a metaphor, is it.  You’re saying, the thing that I fought is your people’s version of... of _ultimate evil_?  Ryelka is _here_?”

Ionesca nodded.  “It is real, and very old.  It hunts very well, but its best trick is stringing goatmen who have not fallen to Ryelka’s call up for hunters to kill.”

“So you thought I was coming to kill you.”

Ionesca looked embarrassed.  “I am sorry--”

“You couldn’t have known I wasn’t like the other hunters.  So,” he said, changing the subject, “you’re hunting Ryelka, it frames you for its killings, hunters come in and kill you.  Ryelka moves on and the hunting community calls the job done.  No one suspects there’s something else out there.”

“That is right.”

“And you’re what, trying to take it down?”

The creature looked at Sam with big eyes.  “How can one hunt the devil?”

“You’d be surprised how often it comes up,” Dean muttered, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Sam’s mouth twitch in something that could have been a smile or fledgling reprimand.

Ionesca leaned forward, earnest.  “We do not hunt Ryelka so much as attempt to save those it tries to slaughter.  For this transgression, it uses you hunters to kill us.  It has killed most of my clan this way.  The last was a decade or more ago.  Close call.  It’s been quiet until now, but I think we have no choice.  Our numbers are few.  I’m going to kill it this time.  Our kind has a tradition of helping those who are lost in the wilderness.  We’d like to get back to our job.”

Sam shifted.  “Why’d you go after Dean?  Why not just ask us for help?”

Ionesca shook its head.  “I didn’t know you were hunters until you and I locked eyes on the hike.  I sensed Ryelka’s presence--”

“And you took off for the blue team,” Sam said, nodding at Dean, “in order to try to save them.”

“I knew you were a hunter in that moment, and I knew you were hunting me.  But.”  It shrugged.

“Lives were at risk,” Sam said.  “I get it.”

“I didn’t injure your brother, nor did I drag him off into the forest.  I chased down Ryelka, who dropped your brother down in that ravine.  While you were engaging Ryelka, I was getting your brother here to safety.”

“You called out in Dean’s voice to warn me in that fight,” Sam guessed.

It nodded.

“Why not just bring him back to the cabin?”

“Too dangerous.  This cave is hidden from Ryelka’s sight, secure, and closer, and your brother cannot move quickly.  I thought it would be better to bring you to him, and then we would plan a hunt.”

“Without endangering the other hikers.”

The thing nodded.

Dean clapped his hands together.  “Well as fascinating as it is watching you two finish each others--”

“Sandwiches?” Charlie popped in.

“--sen...tences...” Dean finished, cocking a brow at her.

“Do you watch _anything_ made after 1997?”

Dean wrinkled his nose at her and turned back to Sam and Ionesca.  “So?”

Sam was still putting all the pieces together.  If it took him a little longer than usual to let the parts make sense, Dean told himself to allow for Satan whispering sweet nothings into Sam’s ear and hell’s pneumonia even now putting bright fever spots on Sam’s cheeks, and he practiced patience.  He’d already heard all this, he’d had time to put it together.  He shrugged at Sam, waiting for his verdict.  

Sam shifted.  “I have an idea.  But I’ll have to go back to the cabin for the herbs and stuff.”  He looked at Dean apologetically.  “You should stay here--”

“The herbs for the blessed knives and stuff?” Charlie asked.  Sam nodded.  “Oh, I might have kinda maybe brought them with me.”

Sam raised his brows.  Nodded.  “Alright then.  I guess... we better kill ourselves the devil.”  He looked at Dean with a little grin.  “Again.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Episode Six**  
" **The Little Fish"  
Chapter Five**

Sam's plan sucked.

Dean pushed through the searing pain in his leg, shoved aside plants and tried to stop tripping over the tiniest asshole little rocks and shit - he hated camping and he hated the woods and goddammit they were hunting a goddamned _Alpha_ , an Alpha that was basically the goatman version of the devil, the _source_ of evil in a monster type that was apparently _good_ \- well it wasn't awesome.

And Charlie wasn't a hunter no matter how many gadgets she had or what her score at the range was or whatever. And Dean was injured, trying to hide his limp and failing spectacularly, half-bitten off curses and stumbling every few feet, and he tried to save Sam the worry, suggesting that Charlie needed a break. But it was obvious Sam wasn't fooled, and Charlie just rolled her eyes and Dean felt completely useless and pathetic-

And it wasn't like Sam was doing that much better. He was favoring that shoulder again, Dean saw how he kept his arm close to his body. And he saw the slices through his shirt, the tinge of blood though it didn't look too serious. The gauze over his temple hadn't bled through. But he was breathing hard, wheezing just a bit, whatever was keeping him upright - _whatever_ it was - was maybe wearing off. Sam coughed, wet and he tried to hide it, shook his head, kept going-

Dean grabbed his arm, his good arm, pulled them both to a stop. "Sammy. This plan sucks."

"I know." Sam looked ahead of them, at the form of their dead camper Melanie tramping along the trail, followed by Charlie. "You got a better one, I'm all ears."

"You gotta leave me here."

"What?"

Dean blew out a breath, a _hard_ breath, limped back a little and stuck his arm out to lean on a tree. "You gotta leave me, man. I'm dead weight. I'm slowin' you down."

"No. No, that thing is out there Dean. It flanked me and I was actively stalking it. If it comes after you, you're dead."

Dean shook his head. "No way. You don't think I can take out a tiny little dark side goatman Alpha? Come on."

Sam watched him, measured him. Dean looked away. "Yeah," Sam said. "Sure you can. Course you can." He looked ahead of them. Nodded. "Okay. We'll make our stand here then. Yeah, there's a clearing we can set up in. We're not too far from where I think the lair is anyway-"

"Sammy, this is a bad idea. You need to get to the ravine, you need to set up this thing where you have space to keep everyone safe-"

Sam turned on Dean, fist in the front of his shirt. "I am not leaving you here. You want me to _live_ \- You are the only-" He collected himself. "I am _not_ leaving you here." He backed up a step, let Dean go, breathing hard.

"Jesus. Okay Sam. Hey, okay." Dean sought Sam's face, trying to make eye-contact; Sam looked away from it. "Sam, come on, look at me." Dean pushed away from the tree, took a labored step. Sam had a hand out, like he was dizzy, waving him off. Dean's worry spiked.

"Sorry," Sam said, turning away. "Look-"

"Don't apologize. Okay. I get it. I mean the number of times you've been the only thing I - I just get it. Okay, Sammy? You good?"

Sam rubbed over his face, scrubbed his palm over the day's stubble. "Yeah, I'm good. Listen, you can't go much further on that leg. I think we should set up here." He turned to include Charlie and Ionesca in the last, get them to stop. "There's a clearing in those trees over there, my arm's killing me, I think we oughta just get this done while we have the light to set up-"

"Yeah, my leg's not doin' too great," Dean added. Sam looked at him, grateful maybe, or surprised. Dean grinned. "You don't have to cover for me man, everyone can see I got myself chewed up here." Dean accepted Sam's arm down and together they lowered Dean onto a rock to rest his leg.

Sam watched him, thoughtful again, measuring again. Then he nodded, and suddenly looked so tired. Definitely grateful for the break, for Dean making it a non-Thing, how worn down Sam was.

"Okay," Sam said. "We know the Polish wards work. What I want to do is sit you-" He nodded at Dean. "In the middle of a warded circle-"

"Bait."

"Safest bait ever," Sam agreed. "Me, Charlie, and Ionesca will be in hiding at three of the four corners. It'll come after you, Dean, so stay in that circle. Keep it coming for you and it won't even notice as we put up the wards around it. Then we smoke it."

"Three of you and four wards-"

"That's why you have to be bait. You can't run to a fourth ward and set it up."

"Yeah but Charlie could, or hey, how about our preternaturally quick monster friend," Dean objected.

"Preternaturally?"

"I know words, smart guy. Don't try to change the subject. Look, this thing has been after you twice now-"

"And the herbs I treated your brother's injury with," Ionesca offered, "hide him from Ryelka. It will not go for the bait."

Sam frowned murderously at the monster. "No. Dean's hurt. We'll just have to get it here and then rely on it to see Dean and go after him."

"You're not exactly at the top of your game either, Sammy," Dean said, and damn trying to save his pride now, when he was trying to throw himself on the fire again. "Don't try to deny it man, I can see right through you. The shakes and the coughing. Your shoulder. No, I'm invoking big brother rights on this one. I can put up a damn ward. Nessie here can do two of them. We'll pop the smoke and Charlie can take the shot."

Sam closed his eyes, probably pissed at Dean for outlining all his sore spots, but it was fucking worth it if Sam stayed out of the line of fire. And hey, it wasn't like he brought up the Lucifer thing.

"If not you," Sam tried, "then Charlie."

"Sorry, this deal is non-transferable," Dean said.

"I'm good," Charlie said. "I've been training, remember? And I remember all the words to that chant thing, and I'm not hurt."

Sam's hand went to his shoulder out of reflex.

"Look, Sam. This is how it's gonna go down. It makes the most sense. You're the second least useful person here, after me, and I'm invisible to it. The thing has your scent. That's just the way this one crumbled, okay? Shut up and accept that you're going to be the safest one in this whole terrible plan."

Sam made a face at _terrible,_ stared off, stewing, working his mouth. He was pissed, and Dean couldn't blame him. But he relented in the face of Dean's impeccable logic. "Fine. Whatever. Let's just get it set up before dark." He turned his back on Dean, shoulders set in pissiness, and strode to catch up with their resident good-guy monster. "Ionesca, hold up. I wanna clarify some things..."

"He's a good hunter, Dean," Charlie said, frowning at him as she helped him up.

"The best," Dean agreed, watching Sam stride off into the meadow chatting with Ionesca.

"So why-"

"I can't lose him, Charlie. I just can't."

* * *

It was chilly by the time they finished setting up. Close to sundown, in the clearing just off the path, they had laid their trap. In the center, big enough Sam could lie down and still be safe, versions of the totems that protected the cabin were carved into the ground, creating a square in which Sam would be the protected bait while they fought around him.

Fifteen feet away in each direction, they had laid actual totems made of green wood and painted with what they had at hand - blood. Laid them onto the ground until the moment they were needed. They'd made a trap with a square of safety in the middle, if it went according to plan. At each totem, there was a pyre of kindling and herbs from the box which Sam and Charlie had used to bless their blades just earlier that day. When the herbs went up, it would obscure the dark goatman's senses, dampen its speed and ability, and when Charlie had the shot, she'd take it.

Ionesca had painted some of the herb mixture it had treated Dean's injury with over Charlie's forehead to hide her as well, and on itself although the ozone scent was difficult to cover. Sam of course, remained fully visible to the goatman's senses.

He was lying on the ground like he was trying to sleep, little tarp strung over him to give the impression that he intended to camp out and resume his hunt the next morning. His backpack was a pillow, his coat was a blanket, he tried to relax and complete the picture of the sleeping camper, but every nerve was sprung tight, thinking about the ways in which this stupid plan of his could fail.

And it might not have been so bad if they'd been able to wait it out together, chatting around a fire, protected by sigils - they should have waited until the next day to do this, but he just kept thinking about the people in the cabin who'd decided waiting wasn't an option, people who ran and would probably be found dead soon enough. So no, a nighttime hunt it was. Waiting alone in the dark.

It took a couple of hours, long enough that Sam was in turns close to sleep and so sleepless he could barely keep himself from getting up to pace. If Dean had been in his place, no way would they have been able to keep up the illusion. But two hours, and he smelled it before he heard it, that burning copper smell, that spilled blood smell. He shifted to get his knife into his hand and free of the straps of the backpack, couldn't help the little gasp of pain as he shifted his shoulder, tight and stiff from lying on the cold ground.

Fine, that was fine. If it thought he was more injured than he was, great. He opened his eyes to slits, and there it was in the moonlight, a shadow he barely saw except that it blotted out the lighter colored underbrush where it walked.

It took its time, scenting the air, looking this way and that. Sam held his breath - Dean and the others were safe, hidden by the herb mixture, under cover, safe safe safe - and then the creature turned toward him.

Sam shifted again, pretended to wake, scuffled realistically for the knife already in his hand, held it out in front of himself as he sat up.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said. It advanced on him slow, mouth open in a toothy grin; moonlight shined off its teeth.

"Boy," it said, voice deep and rich with centuries. Sam thought he could feel it through the earth, momentarily rooted by this single word, the terror it wrought with its mere presence, the confidence. It suddenly occurred to Sam that it was very much like a leviathan, ancient, alien, with a big mouth full of sharp teeth. The thing was predation personified, and it moved like the whole earth knew it, this alpha, this king among monsters. It stopped before Sam. Blinked its several white flower eyes. "I know you. Don't I."

"No." _Come on, come on -_ just behind them, the first totem went up, and to cover the sound of the live wood twisting into the underbrush, Sam got to his feet, let a stick crack under his boot, gestured wildly with the knife.

"No, I don't think we've met," over the other two totems, and the sound of Ionesca racing for the fourth, which would go up within full view of the beast in front of him, Sam in his way, protected by some marks in the earth.

The thing tilted its head at him, eyes blinking in turns. "No, I guess we haven't. But I've heard the stories. Alpha hunter. The one they call boy king-"

Sam went cold, but the thing stopped, looking past him, strangled out a cry, and Sam knew the last totem had gone up. Ryelka leaped for him, backward hinged legs uncoiled in strength, and Sam held his ground as the thing was stopped midflight by the wards carved into the ground at Sam's four corners.

Ryelka swung its head around, taking in the four outer wards with anger. Swiveled back to Sam. It roared in anger, so close Sam could smell the rotten coppery fester of its breath. The earth shook. "And what now, mighty hunter! You're trapped with me."

"Now? Now you burn," Sam said, and the murmuring came up on three sides, Dean and Charlie and Ionesca murmuring the Polish incantation. The strike of matches. Smoke floated into the space. Ryelka looked around its trap as the smoke closed in around it, its cry rent the air. It promised death, and more than that, torment, vengeance -

Sam crouched into his safe space, covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve. He tried to keep the thing in sight as the smoke covered the clearing. He needn't have bothered. Ryelka slammed into the invisible barrier around Sam, digging its claws into the ground in an attempt to break the ward there and render it ineffective.

Fine. Sam tightened his hold on the knife. But he needed this thing distracted-

"Charlie!" Dean said over the sound of the raging goatman. Thank god for Dean.

"I can't see!"

"Wait til you have the shot!" Dean said.

"No, don't wait! Aim for my voice!" Sam called. Judging by the direction of Charlie's voice, the goatman currently digging his way to Sam was right in her line of sight to Sam. Hopefully the bullet wouldn't go straight through.

"What-?"

"Just do it!"

"Do it, Charlie!" Dean said, and half a second later, the shot rang out, and the beast screamed and wheeled away. Sam could make out the shadow of it through the heavy smoke, the strange fleshy horns flying up in rage, pain-

Sam shot out into the smoke from his safe space just in time for the smoke to begin to clear. Dean was yelling; Sam ignored him and leapt onto the beast's back, climbed the trunk of the creature as it reared in agony, gripped it tight by the tips of the fleshy horns and sliced his blessed knife through the base of them even as the thing reached back for him, dug its claws into his waist-

They both went down.

* * *

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Dean ranted, waving away the smoke as he limped as quickly as possible into the circle. The thing might have been down, might have been crouched over Sam's dead body, it didn't matter - if it wasn't dead, it soon would be. And if _Sam_ wasn't dead, by god he was going to have some fucking explaining to do-

They lay there in the dirt. Sam pinned beneath the creature's bulk and unmoving, eyes closed, mouth open. Red painted his shirt around the waist; white painted his face and hands and arms. A knife in one hand, something unidentifiable and gross in the other.

Dean knelt. Fuck fuck fuck - and god kneeling hurt, but he barely felt it. "Sam? Sam."

Sam coughed, violently, dragged in a breath. Knife still clenched in one hand, he vaguely attempted to push the body off of him. "Little help?" he wheezed.

Ionesca and Charlie appeared. Ionesca, in its true form, immediately started to help move the body off of Sam; Charlie went into hysterics.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, I shot Sam. Look, he's bleeding."

"I'm fine, Charlie," Sam said. His breath hitched. "Mostly. But you didn't shoot me, don't worry."

Dean helped him sit up. "You son of a bitch," he said again. "You knew a silver bullet wouldn't kill it, didn't you?"

"I had a hunch."

"You never intended to stay safe in that circle."

"Nope. Sorry."

"Fuck you are gonna give me a goddamned heart attack."

Sam chuckled, coughed _hard_.

Dean rubbed his back. "You wanted me out here the whole time. I shoulda known when you just quit bitching about it you had somethin' else planned. I mean, you're the stubborn one."

" _You're_ the stubborn one."

"Jesus shut _up_."

Sam relaxed back, practically collapsed into Dean's lap. " _You_ shut up," he grumbled miserably.

"Ryelka is dead." Ionesca sat at the side of the hulking dark goatman, watching it solemnly, pale blue clusters of eyes like flowers. It lifted a hand as if to touch the body, but dropped it again, tilted its head. "Ryelka is dead."

"God I hope so," Dean said.

"Dean-"

"What, show some respect? To the thing that tried to _kill_ us?"

"To Ionesca," Sam said quietly, looking over. There was a moment of quiet.

Awkward, awkward quiet.

"So," Charlie said, turning her back on the goatmen. "My girlfriend dumped me."

"What?" Sam said, over sympathetic, as Dean was saying "No way, her loss."

"You could have told us," Sam continued.

"I didn't want a pity party."

"Pity? Please," Dean said. "You'll get another like that." He snapped his fingers.

Charlie brightened. "I know, right? I'm pretty awesome. I dunno, I think I'm just too much for her. Whatevs, I'm totally gonna get Bridget's number when we get back."

"Bridget's gay?" Sam said. "Huh."

"Oh yeah. And her friend Robbie wants to climb you like a tree." She winked at Dean, who genuinely tried to keep a straight face when Sam's cheeks went scarlett.

"That's why he was suggesting drinks..." Sam said wonderingly. "I thought- uh, nevermind. I-"

"But I'm also gonna get Tabitha's number too, maybe," Charlie said, taking pity on him by changing the subject back.

"Tabitha... Tabitha _Minnow,_ the _vic_?" Dean said. " _You're_ the Protected Forests Division guy! From the hospital!"

"Uh, no? That's not a thing. But if you're suggesting I got to your witness before you did, yeah. I did that."

Sam chuckled.

"Oh shut it, knucklehead," Dean sniped. "She also put this case together before you did. It's basically your fault she beat us by a day."

Sam laughed again, pushed himself out of Dean's lap and stifled a cough to say, "It was good work, Charlie. Even Dad never successfully put together a goatman hunt. You should have seen Dean's face. He was _really_ annoyed-"

"Aaaaactually," Charlie said, winking up an eye. "As much as I love to annoy Dean, Kevin told me where you were and what you were doing."

"I'm gonna kill that shrimp-"

"So I guess you can still blame Sam. For like, getting us all out here but also for like, surviving and stuff."

"You're welcome?" Sam said.

Silence descended again.

More awkward.

"Okay, so... we should get back to the cabin. Um..." Dean smiled at the goatman. "The horror show's over, pal. We won."

"Ionesca, are you all right?" Sam asked.

Ionesca nodded, in slow motion. Then it dragged its eyes from the corpse and smiled at the three of them. "Yes. All is well now. For so long, we- but all is well now." It stood, clapped its long-fingered hands together. "I shall accompany you back to the cabin-"

"You don't have to do that," Sam said.

"Please. Allow me to see you to safety, from here to the cabin, and from there out of the forest. It is my honor and duty."

* * *

Dean hung back from the group as they made their goodbyes. He hadn't been too interested in making friends on the blue team, just kept count of the squishy little civvies and made chat with Charlie on their hike out. But it looked like there were people on the red and blue teams alike who had come to regard Sam as a friend and a leader, taking his phone and programming their numbers in, taking his in return - "Just in case," they'd joke. A slightly hysterical, we're alive but some of our friends aren't kind of joke, but with the sort of fire-forged kinship that came of battle.

Sam was tired, Dean could tell, and he wanted to get home and sleep for a million years - he had that hang about him that Dean could spot ten miles off. But he kept handing out his phone, he kept smiling, he laughed a time or two, and coughed a lot more.

Charlie was with him, though. If he needed Dean's help, she'd yell for him even if Sam couldn't. Dean sighed and headed off toward the half-hidden parking lot where they'd parked, set on getting them ready to jet as soon as Sam said scram. He came up on her rear end, keyed open the trunk to toss their backpacks in, strip his outer teeshirt and throw on a clean long-sleeved shirt. Slammed the trunk and started around toward the driver's side-

"Hiya, Dean," Abaddon said, stretched out on the hood of the impala.

Dean jumped, like a mile. "Jesus." He looked back toward the campers and hissed, "Get the hell off my car."

She stroked the glossy black. "I just love how you've managed to keep this heap going, you know?" She looked up at him, full red lips, flaming hair, those eyes. "Broken, bent, on last legs, after you've made a complete and utter wreck of it, how you pick it up and put it back together-"

"You got a painfully executed metaphor you're headin' toward here or-"

"No metaphor. Well, not only metaphor. But speaking of, how is the little camper? Still clinging desperately to a life he doesn't want?"

"You know what, why don't you just tell me what the hell you want and get out of here, before you scratch my paint job."

Abaddon sat up, slow. "You ever wonder why men call the cars they cherish 'she'?"

Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's because they're afraid. From the beginning of time, they have been. Of a creature that can create life, holds the key to man's simplest pleasures and can _withhold_ it just as easily. Of a thing so ferocious and delicate at the same time, men don't know how to cope in the face of its fury. They want to pretend they're in control of at least one... _she_."

"Please god get to the point before I yawn to death."

She slid from the hood of the car. Stalked toward him. "The point is, I'm your _she_. I need you."

Dean frowned, looked around for Sam, though it was a little late to be worried about Sam overhearing. "What, now?" He gestured vaguely upward, where the sun was starting to descend beneath the tree canopy. In the near distance, he could hear Charlie talking with the survivors of this disastrous hunt, here and there Sam's low rumble, a correction, a reassurance that they could call him, here's my number, if you ever need anything, give me a call.

"The iron's hot." She wrinkled her nose apologetically. "So, strike. Here's what I need the Righteous Man to do, and it's simple, really. No complicated rhymes to work out, nothing like that. All we need is the Good Seed in the Rotten Fruit."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I need the heart of a monster."

"... and the catch is...?"

She smiled. "The heart of a _righteous_ monster. The good seed. The rotten fruit. Only the Righteous man can pick it - oh don't look like that, Dean," she said hastily.

Dean was staring back the way they'd come, back to where the goatman was watching Sam and Charlie see the survivors off, so happy he could go back to his clan and his purpose, helping those who were lost find their way.

"No-"

"It's a sacrifice, I know. These things are rarely easy. There's a reason not just anyone can do it, Dean. The Righteous Man can do this horrible task because he knows it serves a greater purpose." She was close to him now, without his realizing it, and she laid a hand on his cheek. "To keep Sam safe. It's worth any cost, isn't it?"

Dean closed his eyes.

"If our friend the goatman knew the whole story, I bet he'd volunteer to do it. Save the world, save the guy who helped him finish his mission? I bet it'd be a no-brainer-"

"Stop. Just stop talking. I'm already in." He pulled away from her and headed toward the trunk, looking for a weapon. Without looking up, he said, "I'll leave the heart for you in his... uh, cave. And Sam does _not_ find out about this."

"Good enough," she said. "Oh, and Dean?"

He stuck his head up over the trunk.

She grinned. "We need four Seeds, mkay?"

"Three more after- Three more?"

"Enough to scatter to the four winds. You collect, I'll do the scattering. Good luck."

He looked down into the trunk, trying to figure a way out. He wasn't bound by a deal or anything, but Lucifer, Sam, he couldn't let that happen- He shouldered his bag and closed the trunk, and when he looked back up, Abaddon was gone. He headed toward the group.

"Heya, Sammy," he said. "I'm gonna walk Ionecsa back to his home sweet home. You finish up here and I'll meet you back at the car?"

Sam nodded. "Uh, sure. Tell him thanks for me, okay?"

Dean took a breath, held it a moment, nodded. "I sure will."

He left them talking and grinned at the goatman on approach. "Let's get you back home, huh?" he said, heft of a knife in his bag.


End file.
